The After Effects of Animus
by bleedingxheart
Summary: Post war. AU. HPDM Slash. Several months after the War has ended, Draco makes a visit. What happens to him will change and challenge his and Harry's relationship in a whole new way. Memory loss!fic.
1. The Incident

**June 1st, 2000**

Maybe if he was stronger, he wouldn't have felt the need to do this. As it was.

Cloaked and hooded despite the gathering heat, glittering eyes darting around as he hurried to one of the newest establishments which had been set up along Diagon Alley. There was a feeling of cautious hope in the air, so fresh and tender that the slightest gesture could exterminate it, but Draco was impervious.

A nondescript shopfront, on a virtually unknown side alley. Dark blue curtains drawn over the window from the inside. Simple white text curving on the glass: 'ANIMUS,' and below it, hours of operation.

The door opened and closed with a gentle tinkle, a gush of cool, scented air greeting him. Draco sniffed. Cinnamon, possibly. This was the lobby of the establishment, designed to calm; muted tones in pastel blue and dull grey on the walls, carpet and ceiling. A Self-Dusting plastic pot plant was positioned in the corner beside an oaken table of magazines and newspapers, flanked on either side by pale cream lounges. Bland, quietly tedious music played, although no speakers were in sight. The only other feature of the room was a large oaken desk, situated on the far wall, to the right of a single door. The desk was manned by a middle-aged witch. One glance around told Draco there was no one else in the room.

Soft steps, and he cleared his throat carefully. A wise choice in their receptionist, Draco pondered, as she glanced up at him with a mild expression. Dark hair pulled into a plain bun, hazel eyes serene behind the silver spectacles perching on her nose, bland clothing in pastel colours. Perfectly normal and perfectly non-threatening.

"Welcome to Animus," she greeted smoothly. "It's a pleasure to have your patronage today. How can I be of assistance to you?"

"I had an appointment," Draco answered. "At 2 o'clock."

"Of course," she nodded. "If you could just take a seat in our waiting area, someone will be with you shortly."

Draco nodded as well, curtly, and spun on his heel and strode to one of the lounges. Slightly dizzy as he sat. Not from any physical ailment, oh no, but just from the sheer knowledge of what he was going to do.

It didn't take long for the door beside the reception desk to open, and another witch entered the room, dressed in robes of a serene sky blue. She spoke quietly to the receptionist for a moment, and then turned to face Draco.

"Mr Malfoy," she greeted him with a calm smile. "It's a pleasure to see you. Come, do follow me." She gestured to him, and Draco stood and swept past the desk, following the specialist into the corridor beyond.

It was bare and plain, with only a few doors scattered along it. Fluorescent lights buzzed quietly overhead. The witch opened a door on the right and held it open for him. He entered, and she followed behind, closing the door firmly behind them.

Baring some resemblance to a Muggle doctor's office and characterised once more by muted colours, the room contained another oaken desk, with one chair behind it and one chair in front. To the side was the kind of bed commonly seen in Muggle hospitals, narrow, fitted with plain white sheets. Quietly simple drawings and paintings adorned the walls, mostly of nature scenes. There were no portraits.

"Please, sit," said the witch, gesturing him to the grey cushioned chair before the desk and taking the chair behind it. She drew up closer to the desk and regarded him mildly for a moment, as though sizing him up.

Draco reached up and pushed the hood of his cloak back, revealing the headful of white-blonde hair that was so well known in the wizarding world. She seemed to take this as a signal to begin the formalities.

"My name is Lucia Hevelle and I am Head Specialist here at Animus. I am here to help you. First of all, as you are a new client, I'm afraid you'll have to fill out some tedious paperwork to begin with." She smiled apologetically at him as she opened a desk drawer, rifled for a moment, and then retrieved a sheet of parchment. Pushing it towards him, she gestured to the quill and inkbottle positioned nearby.

Draco bent over the parchment, glancing up at her every now and then; however, she seemed to pay no attention to him, her serene blue-eyed gaze fixed on another sheet of parchment that was on the desk in front of her as she scribbled on it.

When he was finished, he pushed the form back towards her. She picked it up, scanned it, nodded once and put it back down, looking up at him.

"You are aware, Mr Malfoy, that by undertaking our particular brand of healing you do so at your own risk?"

Draco nodded tersely. "Yes, I am aware."

Lucia smiled at him again. "Lovely. If you could just sign a few things for me before we get started on the analysis…" After a series of long, wordy documents had been read and signed by Draco, she faced him again, her pretty face serious.

"Animus aims to provide our clients with the best possible state of mind following the war with the highest level of discretion," she began, "using a Ministry certified and approved memory elimination method which was created to ensure a minimum of mental and physical harm to all involved." She waved a hand towards a framed certificate that hung on the wall behind her. Draco could see the signature of Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister for Magic, on the bottom.

"Allow me to reassure you, Mr Malfoy, that your safety is of utmost importance to us," she said. "I hope to allay any fears you may have with the assurance that we have serviced numerous clients in the months since the war and, despite the bad press, each has reported a raised level of overall wellbeing since coming to see us."

"Impressive," Draco said mildly, and Lucia bowed her head in acknowledgement. "Thank you," she responded. "As Head Specialist, I also want to make sure you know you are in very capable hands."

"I'm sure I am."

"Now, enough pleasantries, hm? Shall we continue on to the mental profile analysis?"

Her questions were delicately probing, and essentially covered his entire life, save those crucial final months. He felt no need to lie about any detail; the whole truth had emerged since late March anyway.

He endured a physical examination without complaint, while she probed and scrutinized with her wand, tapping and pushing this and that, every now and then pausing to scribble something on the sheet of parchment that was charmed to hover behind her. Finally, she sat back down with him at the desk, and regarded him quietly.

"I'm going to need you to tell me every detail, everything, about the memory you wish to have removed," she said, and Draco sucked in a breath. _Brave, be brave,_ he told himself, _imagine that you're Harry_. It was a ridiculous notion in itself, of course, but the thought of his lover seemed to instil a sense of courage, however imagined, within him. He began his story.

_**March 27**__**th**__**, 2000**_

_He had been amongst Group Dragon in the Order-designed offensive groups. Each group had the same job: stick together, move fast, attack swiftly and watch each other's backs. They'd swept through the grounds of Hogwarts doing just that, and while they'd suffered under a few well-aimed curses, no fatalities had occurred._

_That changed when they reached the lake on their second sweep. A group of Death Eaters were there, shooting down supporters of the Light, dark silhouettes against a springtime night sky. Calm and serene._

_Duelling. Jinxes and hexes and curses singing the fresh air. A strange roaring in Draco's ears, blocking out the sounds of battle that surrounded them. And then, cutting through it all, a shout that made Draco's heart skitter with love and concern._

_Harry._

_His lover joined them in combat, apparently on his way past. Didn't even notice Draco was there, so focused was he. The sight of the raven-haired former Gryffindor in his full power wasn't one Draco wanted to forget._

_And then, a mocking laugh that dropped dread light hot, heavy lead into Draco's stomach, and he turned to the sound._

_His father, wand pointed directly at Harry's heaving chest, ten or so metres away, grey eyes glittering with intent to murder. Draco knew that look. Without thinking, clinically, almost, he raised his wand towards his father's heart, picturing as he did the sheet of hair the exact shade of his own hidden beneath the dark hood. Spoke the words as though they scarcely mattered._

'_Avada Kedavra!'_

_Green, brilliant green, blinding green. A thud. Silence._

_And then, months and months of agony._

Breathing harsh and erratic, Draco closed his eyes firmly against the pain, and when he spoke, it was the voice of a broken man.

"No child should have to kill their parent." He whispered. "It shouldn't happen."

Lucia looked on from her position on the other side of the desk, her eyes sympathetic. "Certainly not," she agreed. "And that's where Animus comes in. We can help you forget forever."

"Help me," Draco pleaded openly with her. "I don't want to remember."

"You won't have to." She stood and moved smoothly to stand beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I need a final confirmation, Mr Malfoy. Do you consent fully to have the memory you described to me removed from your recollection permanently?"

Draco swallowed thickly. "Yes, I do."

"Very well. I have all I need. If you could kindly sit perfectly still for me…"

She drew her wand and closed her eyes, running its tip over his head, murmuring words he couldn't hear.

_Forgive me, Harry, _Draco thought, as her wand drew to a halt at a particular spot on the side of his head.

_I'm not as strong as you._

"Oblivius Partis Legilimens!"

There was the most curious feeling that his head was being slowly split open with an axe, and then darkness.

--

Harry Potter appeared from thin air in an obscure street of London, outside a red-brick department store called Purge and Dowse Ltd, the window displays containing mannequins adorning terribly out-of-date fashions. He blinked briefly into the brilliant sunlight before he was enveloped in near bone-crushing hug and his vision was obscured by very bushy, very familiar brown hair.

"Oh, _Harry!_"

Hermione was in tears, sobbing openly on his shoulder. He squeezed briefly back and extracted himself from her grasp. He felt heady with the rush of adrenaline and panic surging through him.

"Where is he?" he demanded of her and Ron, who stood nearby, looking awkward. "Where's Draco? _What's happened to him?_"

"He's…" Ron hesitated. "It's best if you come and see."

Inside a ward on the fourth floor, along the Spell Damage corridor, they found him.

Harry barged in, eyes wide and frantic. There were several beds in the room, although only one had the curtains drawn around it, and it was this one that he made a beeline for, tearing open the curtains upon arrival.

There was a middle-aged, silvery haired Healer beside the bed who whirled around with fury at the intrusion. "How dare you," he began indignantly, but his reprimand died on his lips once he saw who the intruder was. Harry pushed the Healer out of the way, the better to get to the occupant of the bed.

Draco was asleep. He looked completely peaceful and completely heartbreaking, his pale blonde hair fanning gently on the pillow behind him, breathing even and slow.

"What's happened? What the bloody hell happened?" Harry demanded of the Healer, fury lacing his tone.

"Mr Potter," the Healer greeted. "I am Healer Gregorius and I've been assigned to the case of your partner. Mr Malfoy has suffered brain damage as a result of a malfunctioning spell. I assume you have heard of the organisation known as Animus?"

"He wouldn't…" Harry breathed, turning his gaze back to Draco. "He didn't, surely he didn't…"

"Unfortunately, yes." Gregorius' expression darkened. "Mr Malfoy has been confirmed as a patron at that particular establishment from around 2 o'clock onwards this afternoon. From reports and statements given by the Specialist who was assigned to his case, a Lucia Hevell, they entered into standard proceedings, and upon application of the specialised memory removal charm Animus favours, things went terribly wrong."

"How wrong?" Harry demanded, nearly hysterical. "What the hell is wrong with him?"

"The memory charm Animus favours is designed, as you know, to target a specific memory provided by the client for permanent removal, using a combination of Legilimency and sheer magical power," Gregorius said. "The procedure, while unbelievably dangerous and definitely controversial, has been carried out on vast numbers of other wizards and witches who wished to eliminate memories of the war they would rather forget from their minds, to great success. Mr Malfoy wished for the same thing, only his procedure backfired."

"Why?"

"That is, unfortunately, nearly impossible to ascertain," Gregorius said apologetically. "The main point is that it did. Preliminary scans have showed us that his brain is behaving in an irregular pattern. He slipped from unconsciousness into sleep a few hours ago, and we're expecting him to awake shortly. Until he does, there's really no telling what the effects of the spell have been on him."

Gregorius glanced at Draco and made a note on his clipboard before turning back to Harry.

"Mr Potter, I must warn you that possible effects include mild to severe brain damage, and memory loss to an extent that it might turn out permanent. Mr Malfoy may even be paralysed. There is simply no way to know."

Harry nodded grimly and grasped the Healer on the shoulder. "Thank you."

"You," and Gregorius seemed to notice the presence of Ron and Hermione, hovering awkwardly nearby for the first time, and extended the statement to include them, "can stay with him if you like. Visiting hours end at 8 o'clock, and it's entirely possible he may wake up before then."

Gregorius glanced at his wristwatch and grimaced. "I have other patients to attend to, but the moment his condition changes, I will be back. My condolences to you in the face of this accident, Mr Potter." He bowed his head respectfully and left quietly, leaving the trio alone with Draco on the bed.

--

An hour later, Ron and Hermione were watching Harry pace back and forth beside the bed.

"I'm sure he'll be fine, Harry," Hermione soothed for the millionth time. "He's strong, he'll get through this."

"But what if he doesn't?" Harry fired back, silencing his friend yet again with the simply desperate look in his eyes.

Hush descended on the trio once more. Harry resumed his pacing, and Hermione exchanged a worried glance with Ron.

A slight sound from the bed drew all of their attention. Draco was shifting restlessly, his eyelids fluttering, making a strange whimpering noise in the back of his throat.

Harry was by his side in an instant, one hand gently smoothing his lover's hair. "Draco, love, it's me, it's Harry," he murmured, "I'm right here for you."

The delicately sculptured face of Draco Malfoy shifted, and his eyes fluttered open, revealing blank grey orbs. They stared blindly straight ahead for a moment, flickered, and then glanced to the side to see who was stroking his hair.

Draco yelped, pulling away swiftly from Harry as though burned, his expression swiftly turning to an angry snarl that Harry hadn't seen on Draco's face since they were about halfway through their fifth year.

"Get the bloody hell off me, Potter," Draco sneered at him coldly. They stared at each other, one angry, one terribly confused and hurt, and Harry noted absently that his beloved's eyes held no hint of warmth or love.

TBC

**AN: OK, yes, you're all going to kill me for this, I know. No, this is not an update for my Veela story. Yes, this is in fact the first chapter of a new fic. No, I have no intentions of updating the Veela fic anytime soon, and come to think of it, I probably won't update this one again either for a long time. This was simply a plot bunny that arrived in my mind one morning during my shower and it simply had to be written.**

**I am dreadfully, painfully busy with schoolwork, and I should be slapped for writing this instead of my Ext. 2 major work, which is a short story, but as it is. I wrote this in a frenzy across two nights, and now I present it to you to ask what you think of it.**

**Keeping in mind that no matter how many times you ask me to update it won't change the pile of schoolwork I have to do, until next time, my dears.**

**bleedingxheart**


	2. The After Effects

**AN: No, it's not an update to my Veela story. Sorry. But inspiration has hit me in the face for this story, and you gotta strike while the iron is hot...or so they say. It's been 14 months since I wrote fanfiction, so...forgive me if I'm a little rusty.**

Chapter Two: The After Effects

Silence pervaded the small room. For a moment, no one moved. Ron and Hermione stared, mouths agape, at the frozen figures before them.

Harry swallowed, eyes burning with hurt as Draco continued to glare at him. Taking a deep breath, he bravely stepped forward to the bed once more.

"Draco?" he ventured tentatively.

"What is it, Potter?" Draco snapped, his cold grey eyes narrowing as he looked past Harry to Ron and Hermione. "What are the Weasel and the Mudblood doing in here?" he spat.

Harry sensed rather than saw his friends flinch, and knew he had flinched as well. Draco had stopped calling Harry's friends by those names after...well...not since their fifth year, in any case.

"We're here for you, Draco," Hermione said slowly, carefully, as though speaking to a trapped animal likely to bite one's arm off. "We were worried about you."

Draco seemed to shrink upon himself, moving as far away from all three of them as his bed-ridden position allowed, eyeing them distrustfully. "What is this, Potter?" he hissed at Harry. "Where have you taken me? Where am I? What do you think you're doing? What messed up antics have you got me involved with? When I tell my father..."

The other three occupants of the room visibly blanched at this. Draco, in reality, would never see his father again. It was rapidly becoming obvious, however, that this Draco, this horribly familiar version of the Draco they knew, had no inkling of that fact.

"Maybe we should get Gregorius, or another of the Healers," Hermione whispered to Harry, but there was no need – Gregorius entered the room at that moment, seeming unsurprised to see his patient conscious, sitting upright in bed and glaring blue murder.

"Forgive me, I came as soon as I could," he murmured to Harry briefly before striding towards the bed, clipboard in hand.

"Mr Malfoy, please calm yourself and sit back," he ordered. "I need to examine you."

"A Healer? I'm in ST MUNGO'S?" was Draco's shrieked response. "Potter! What is the meaning of this!" He began struggling against the sheets of the bed, clearly intending on freeing himself in order to indicate to Harry just what he thought of the situation. Gregorius intervened quickly though, grabbing Draco's shoulders to secure him where he was, murmuring into what seemed like a small golden earpiece as he did so. Within seconds a female Healer hurried in, holding a small vial of milky coloured potion. With Gregorius holding Draco down, the Healer cast Silencio upon him and then held his mouth open to pour the contents of the vial down Draco's throat.

"What did she give him?" Harry cried, distressed, as Draco's body jerked and then abruptly stilled, the fight against Gregorius' hands ceasing.

"Calming Drought," Gregorius replied, stepping back and nodding his thanks to the Healer. "I need to ascertain exactly what Mr Malfoy's condition is, and it would be preferable if he wasn't attempting bodily harm on others." But the look he shot Harry made Harry's insides squirm with worry – it was confusion, incredulity, and it highlighted to Harry the wrongness of Draco's behaviour. Draco loved Harry; everyone in the wider British wizarding world knew that. That Draco would be trying to fight Harry was bizarre, concerning to Gregorius.

Draco had indeed quieted down, and was now looking at Gregorius with calm, clear eyes. The female Healer, at Gregorius' nod, pulled out a clipboard as well and got poised to take notes.

Gregorius turned to Harry and the others. "I'm going to conduct a few scans and then ask him a few questions now. It would be best if you didn't interrupt just yet." Harry, Ron and Hermione quickly nodded their acquiescence. Satisfied, Gregorius turned back to his patient.

He pulled out his wand and aimed it at Draco's head. Harry shifted uncomfortably at the sight, but found that Hermione had changed position to stand beside him. She took his hand and squeezed it comfortingly.

"It'll be okay," she murmured to him as they watched Gregorius scan Draco's head and body with a faint blue light. Gregorius furrowed his brow in concentration as he brought his wand back closer to Draco's head, concentrating his efforts there. The pale light from the scanning illuminated Draco's face strangely, turning the alabaster skin almost translucent.

Gregorius waved his wand once, and a sheet of parchment appeared before him in midair. He picked it up and read through whatever information was there, frowning slightly. Without a word he passed it to the female Healer, who also studied it with a frown.

All necessary scans seemingly complete, Gregorius now moved to face Draco, who throughout this had been staring into space.

"Mr Malfoy, can you understand me?" He asked clearly. They watched as Draco focused on Gregorius, an absent minded smile lighting his face. He nodded slowly.

"Good. Now Mr Malfoy, I'm going to ask you a few questions. I want you to answer me as best you can. Okay?"

Draco nodded again.

"Your name?"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy."

"And how old are you, Draco?"

"Fifteen."

Harry and his friends exchanged startled glances, Harry hissing in a sharp breath. Gregorius merely raised both eyebrows before continuing his questions.

"What date were you born?"

"June 5th 1981."

"What year is it?"

Draco appeared to regain some of his old persona as his eyes narrowed incredulously at the Healer, as though severely questioning his intelligence. "Obviously, I'm fifteen, so that makes it 1996."

Hermione glanced at Harry. His lips had turned white, and he was trembling.

"I see. Forgive me, I was merely confirming." Gregorius smiled reassuringly at Draco. "How do you feel, Mr Malfoy? Any physical discomfort?"

Frowning, Draco said almost thoughtfully, "My head really hurts."

"Just your head?" Gregorius pressed.

"Yes."

"Can you move your extremities for me?"

Fixing the Healer with an insolent stare, Draco slowly raised and lowered first his arms, then his legs.

"That eliminates paralysis," Gregorius murmured half to himself as the female Healer made a note on her clipboard.

"Excuse me, but may I ask just what the point behind these questions is?" Draco snapped. It was rapidly becoming clear that the calming drought was wearing off already.

Gregorius smiled reassuringly again. "Precaution, Mr Malfoy, forgive me. Now this may seem strange, but could you tell me what you remember last?"

Draco blinked, and then his cold grey eyes flickered, fixing themselves on Harry. "Potty and I were outside Transfiguration. Weasel insulted my father, so I retaliated. It's only fair, it's only natural," he half murmured to himself. "Potty didn't like me calling Granger a Mudblood, even though that's what she _is. _We were fighting. He punched me. I hit back. We got detention from McGonagall. The last thing was that I went to bed, feeling angry at Potter. And now..." he made a sweeping gesture with one hand, indicating the room, the Healers and Harry and the others in one motion.

"I see."

Draco glared at Harry furiously. "I say this is a trick of yours, Potter. You've got me involved in one of your stupid schemes, or your stupid heroic adventures or whatever it is you do to seem so damn _special._" He spat the last word.

Harry winced, then stepped forward, his hand reaching out to Draco plaintively. He had to try. He couldn't have lost _his _Draco to the immature, sneering prick he'd been at fifteen. Surely he remembered.

"Draco, love, it's me," Harry whispered. "Your Harry. Draco..."

Draco's brow knitted together as he audibly snarled at Harry. "Cut that crap, Potter! Merlin, what the hell is going ON?" his voice rose to a shriek. He began struggling to remove himself from the bed once more.

"Sedation," Gregorius decided, and quick as a flash the female Healer had a syringe to the side of Draco's neck. Draco gave a yowl but swiftly succumbed to the medicine, falling back into sleep on the bed.

Harry remained where he was, his trembling hand extended towards his lover. Hermione gently lowered it for him and squeezed his arm reassuringly, sympathetically.

"He should be out for quite a few hours," Gregorius commented, his eyes on the blonde. "His bodily function and overall current physical state is perfectly normal, from what I can observe. Any symptoms of what has happened to him as a result of the malfunctioning spell appear to be manifesting themselves mentally. We'll let the sedation wear itself off and then administer a dreamless sleep potion."

Hermione piped up. "It's not...a usual thing, is it Gregorius, the memory loss he has? I mean..." she swallowed thickly, "I've never heard of such a thing."

Gregorius shook his head. "No. Cases like this are extremely rare. Mental malfunctions as a result of backfiring spells, particularly those based around brain cognition, is a common accident in the wizarding world. Usually such a thing will produce concussion, brief or temporary memory loss...even in more severe cases, there is near all encompassing memory loss or, as I warned before, paralysis, so on...but Mr Malfoy's current mental state is highly unexpected." He frowned again at his patient. "From what I can gather, he honestly believes himself to be in his fifth year at Hogwarts, and to be fifteen years of age, with no apparent recollection of any events occurring after that time."

Ron spoke suddenly, causing Harry and Hermione to both jump – he had been silent so long they'd nearly forgotten he was there. "So if Malfoy has lost his memory, what do we do now?' he asked. "I mean, is there a way to get it back, or..."

Gregorius sighed, rubbing his temples. "That, unfortunately, is impossible to ascertain. Because we don't know exactly how or why the spell malfunctioned, it will be difficult to determine if the effects can be reversed at all. There will most likely never be a way of determining why the spell has backfired to this effect on his memory. Certainly, the procedure employed by Animus is dangerous, medically speaking, with chances of brain damage and death if performed incorrectly." He glanced at Harry. "If I was you, I would be looking into the staff member who treated him, and the circumstances of the incident. In any case, reversal of what has happened seems extremely unlikely, next to impossible."

Harry was quiet for a moment before he spoke. "So what should we do for him instead?" Harry asked.

The female Healer spoke up this time. "He will need to be made aware of the incident, of what has happened to him, of his circumstances," she said. Her voice was soft and light, like a gentle bell ringing. "Of course, you'll need to keep in mind that his mental state is fragile at the moment. He honestly believes himself to be fifteen, and will not remember any of the experiences you've shared together. Go gently with him. It will be a lot to take in, and he's likely not to believe you at first. Perhaps it will be best to think of a way to prove to him that your story is true, some inarguable circumstance he won't be able to explain away."

"Well, that'll be easy," Ron commented. Every eye turned to look at the redhead, who fixed his gaze upon his best friend. Harry frowned. Ron looked sad and grim at the prospect he was imagining.

"We'll just show him his mother."

--

Lucia Hevelle did not consider herself a bad person.

Sure, there were times during her youth at Hogwarts where she'd crossed a few moral lines, lied, cheated. But as a Ravenclaw, it was all in the interest of furthering her own knowledge. Since she'd left school, she'd done all she could to study, study, study. Whatever topic, it didn't matter. She worked and read and seized upon this topic or that until anyone could hold her up as a true example to her former House. She'd never been someone with petty hatreds, agendas, vendettas. She'd been happy to assist in the fight against Voldemort several months ago. She'd viewed the subsequent opportunity with Animus as a brilliant opportunity to exercise her knowledge on magic directed towards the brain. She was good at what she did.

She was currently being held in custody in a small chamber in the Department of Mysteries 'until such time as circumstances have made themselves more apparent,' according to the current Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The notion in itself was ridiculous. Lucia Hevelle, a criminal?

She didn't know what had gone wrong with the spell. It had been a normal procedure, something she'd done many times before. Of course, that her client was the illustriously famous Draco Malfoy, partner of the Boy Who Lived, was the reason behind her virtual imprisonment. Animus had a far better track record than any other similar enterprises which had sprung up since the War, with no serious incidents reported since they commenced operation. But even the shabbier, imitation establishments had never reported something as severe as what had happened to Draco, though. And anyone responsible for anything to cause grievance against Harry Potter...

Lucia shuddered. Well, she was expecting nothing less than the utmost amount of public humiliation and vilification. That she was innocent of any evil doing against him seemed to have escaped notice. She knew that already, only half a day after the incident, the wizarding world would have entered an uproar about what had happened. Last she'd heard, Draco Malfoy was being rushed to St Mungo's for immediate and emergency treatment. She had been rushed down here, to the bowels of the Ministry.

The chamber she occupied was small, roughly four metres squared, housing a single bed, toilet, small shower and a desk with accompanying chair. She lay on the bed, going over what had happened and trying her hardest to see where she'd gone wrong. And worrying about Draco Malfoy, swept up to St Mungo's. Was he dead? Was he seriously hurt? Would he be injured for the rest of his life because of her? Surely he couldn't be dead. If he was, wouldn't she have been charged with murder by now?

A loud click echoed through the room. Her head snapped up, eyes on the door to see it swing open and a Minstry official enter, clothed in rich dark velvet robes emblazoned with the Ministry emblem on his chest. He regarded her seriously.

"Miss Develle, if you could follow me please."

"Where are you taking me?" Lucia demanded. "Where am I going? Not Azkaban?" Her voice rose hysterically on the last question, her blue eyes bulging in fear.

The Ministry official simply glanced at the wristwatch he wore. "Not Azkaban, Miss Develle. Merely to the Interrogation Rooms."

Lucia gulped. That hardly sounded much better.

Noticing the look on her face still remained fearful, the Ministry official smiled slightly at her. "Not to worry, it won't be too painful an experience, if that's what you're thinking. The Head of Department has got some questions for you is all. But if we don't hurry, we'll be late."

He pointed his wand at her hands and immediately she found them bound together by a thick golden chain, secured by a padlock stamped with the Ministry emblem. "Official necessity," he said calmly, and gestured her out of the chamber.

--

The Head of the Magic Law Enforcement Department was a stern, no-nonsense wizard named Augustus Ridgeworth. At that moment, as Lucia sat across from him in one of the more subdued chambers of the Interrogation Rooms, everything about him seemed intimidating, from his darkly gleaming eyes to the large, dark-skinned hands he clasped in front of himself. Lucia wasn't entirely sure if the feeling came from the wizard himself or from the atmosphere the Interrogation Rooms provided. The chamber they occupied, whilst nowhere near as frightening or morally questionable as some of those Lucia had been led past, was still dark, damp and eerie, with shadows flickering endlessly on the walls.

Ridgeworth leant forwards, frowning at the witch before him. Lucia Hevelle certainly looked innocent enough, all wide blue eyes and pale skin, but the incident as it stood didn't allow him to be making assumptions. Draco Malfoy was a hero of the War in his own right, and life partner of the biggest War hero the wizarding world had. Public opinion assigned automatic guilt to Lucia for the incident.

The Ministry had been informed by a Healer Gregorius Evervich that Draco Malfoy, whilst not dead or even physically injured from the incident, was in 'a mental condition of extreme and grievous concern to St Mungo's.' Until a statement from Draco himself could be secured, Ridgeworth couldn't push for charges of attempted murder, or acting to cause grievous and fatal harm. But the fallout could be devastating. In the meantime, Ridgeworth wanted to give this case his personal attention.

"Miss Hevelle," he began. "You have been brought here for questioning in regards to the incident involving yourself and Mr Draco Malfoy on the afternoon of June 1st. Everything you say here will be recorded, and can be used against you as evidence before the Wizengamot. You have chosen to accept your right to legal representation, and have voluntarily taken Vertisaserum, is that correct?"

Lucia nodded.

"Good. So we can proceed." Ridgeworth pulled out his wand and murmured a spell, flicking his wand once. A soft buzzing sound began to emit from the wand as he set it on the small table between them.

"Recorder on. This is Augustus Ridgeworth, Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department interviewing Lucia Hevelle, Head Specialist at Animus, business code 22291 in regards to Department Incident number 10620082009. Miss Hevelle," he addressed her, "you have been at Animus for how long?"

"Since it opened in mid-April."

"Not very long," Ridgeworth observed.

"No. Animus was created in response to the end of the war, and..." Lucia took a deep breath, "and what was deemed a dire consumer need for the service we provide."

"Eliminating memories, you mean?"

"Erasing them," Lucia corrected. "Animus' purpose is to provide much needed relief for survivors of the war who have suffered ordeals and experiences which now make their everyday life difficult. A purpose that was certified as viable by the Ministry, with respect, Mr Ridgeworth."

Ridgeworth inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Using a process which the Ministry undoubtedly has certified as meeting safety regulations. Forgive me, I'm not wholly familiar with your work...could you enlighten me as to how you provide that so direly needed service?"

Lucia studied Ridgeworth. The tinge of mockery present in his question had not been lost on her. "Without studying the art of neuro magic, I can only give you a dumbed-down overview," she said.

"By all means, continue."

"The basis of what we do has roots in the principles of neuro magic behind the use of Pensieves," she explained. "With a Penseive, the user uses a spell to locate a particular memory for removal from the brain. Of course, for an Animus specialist, the process is very similar, but made much more difficult by not owning the memory themselves. This is why we precede the memory erasure with extensive questioning of the client about the memory. Once the spell has been performed allowing location of the memory, the specialist then has a clearer idea of what to search for in the brain, and a greater chance of a smooth erasure."

"And the spell itself?"

"A spell linked to Legilimens, although not entirely the same. Legilimency is generally much less precise for execution. The caster receives a random rush of memory from the object, but unless the Legilimens is particularly skilled, they cannot look for memories. Our spell is a bit different. It's called Neuromency. A skilled Neuromens creates a circumstance where the caster can see into the web of memories...like looking at a canvas filled with pictures. It becomes a matter of simply selecting the memory the client described."

Ridgeworth nodded, impressed despite himself. "I see. So in the instance of Draco Malfoy, Miss Hevelle, what do you propose went so terribly wrong?"

"I really don't know." Lucia abruptly lost her professional demeanour, becoming a frightened prisoner once more. "I can't imagine what's happened. I followed normal procedure to the letter, and there was nothing to indicate the erasure wouldn't be 100% successful. You have to believe me," and here she leaned forwards earnestly, "whatever has happened to Draco Malfoy, it was not my intention to hurt him."

Ridgeworth surveyed her coolly. "You had no prior knowledge of Draco Malfoy before he walked into Animus yesterday afternoon? You'd never met him before?"

"No! Well I'd heard about him, of course I had, everyone in the wizarding world knows about him. His father...and his _mother..._and his relationship to Harry Potter. Of course. I knew his appointment was coming up, our receptionist made sure the appointment was with me because such an important client warrants attention from the Head Specialist, after all. But I'd never had any personal contact with him beforehand, never spoke to him, never even sent him a fan owl..."

Ridgeworth watched her body language. Granted, she was under Veritaserum, but it never hurt to check. She certainly was making all the right moves – wringing her hands, holding her hands out imploringly as she spoke, widening her eyes, maintaining eye contact. He decided to deliver what would be the telling point.

"Miss Hevelle, at this stage I am authorised to inform you as to the status of Draco Malfoy."

Lucia leaned forward, her eyes widening, if it was possible, even further.

"Draco Malfoy remains in St Mungo's. While I am happy to report that he's alive and has undergone no physical trauma at this stage, reports from the Healer attending his condition to the Ministry indicate his mental condition is...most traumatic."

Lucia burst into sudden tears.

Startled, Ridgeworth leaned back. "Why are you crying, Miss Hevelle?"

"I never wanted anything to happen to him..." she sobbed. "The poor man...his memory was one of the worst I've seen...forgive me, the shock of the day..."

Ridgeworth watched her cry for a moment more, and then picked up his wand and murmured the spell to end the recording. Standing up, he walked around to her side of the table and helped her out of her seat.

"For the moment, you will be escorted back to the Holding Chamber, where you will remain in custody of the Department whilst our investigations continue."

This only had the effect of making Lucia burst into fresh sobs, as the Ministry official who escorted her to the Interrogation Rooms reappeared, ready to take her back to her prison.

_TBC_

**AN: Phew! Ahh, I feel much better now that's out and done.**

**So, I've kind of got a direction and the weak semblances of a plot in mind for this story. So we'll see how we go. I'm on uni holidays right now, which gives me 6 weeks of no assignments. Chances are I'll update this again. But only if I know that people like it! What's so special about Narcissa Malfoy? How will Draco react? All this and more in the next chapter...if you guys review, of course! ^^**

**Until next time,**

**Bleedingxheart**


	3. The Flashback

**AN: Hyped up on inspiration for this story. :) Can't stop writing. I've missed this feeling.  
**

Chapter Three: The Flashback

_October 31__st__, 1996_

Draco smirked widely. Malfoy pride had taught him to feel proud of himself and his appearance, and he knew that modesty was worthless. He looked, and felt, damn good. The Halloween Ball started in 15 minutes. He swept from the fifth year boys dormitory to the Common Room, where Pansy was awaiting him. She was dressed as a vampiress, her long black hair silky, her skin pale as the moon underneath a glamour. She swept him an elegant curtsy.

"You look dashing, Draco darling," she purred.

"Thank you Pansy," Draco said, performing a small spin on the spot. They were dressed to match, with dark, rich velvet cloaks. Draco had slicked his ice blonde hair back like he used to when he was younger, but needed no glamour to pale his skin. His complexion was vampiristic enough on its own. He performed an exaggerated mock bow. "Shall we?" he said. Grinning, Pansy laid a hand on his arm and together they headed for the Entrance Hall.

He was looking forward to tonight, Draco mused as they navigated the dungeon corridors. It was the first time in a long while he'd found himself looking forward to anything. Schoolwork had been shocking this year due to the upcoming OWLs, he never seemed to be able to come off the better in confrontations with Potter, captaining the Quidditch team was only adding to his mounting responsibilities, and his Dad had been hinting in letters about Draco's 'glorious future.' Draco was no fool. Voldemort had returned early that summer, and Lucius Malfoy wanted to ensure his son followed in his footsteps. Draco's stomach flipped in fear at the thought of Lord Voldemort, although he would never admit it to anyone. But knowing familial duty would oblige him to do as his Dad commanded...well, he was looking forward to the few hours tonight where he could dance to bad music, drink spiked punch and laugh at Gryffindors with Pansy and not have to worry about all those things.

They emerged into the Entrance Hall, which was milling with students, all dressed in costumes which ranged from tasteful to...well, taste_less. _Draco grimaced at a particularly gaudy number worn by the Mudblood, who was dressed as a princess. While she'd managed to tame her bushy hair for once, the pink monstrosity she was dressed in hurt just to look at. The Weasel, typically, was drooling all over her. Eurgh. Draco grimaced again and murmured this observation to Pansy, who snickered.

Several minutes later, the vast doors to the Great Hall swung open to reveal a beaming Dumbledore, costumed as a rather large pheonix, complete with a long, feathery tail and breathtaking gold and red feathered wings. There came the sound of hooting, whooping and generally appreciative cheers from some of the Gryffindors in the crowd. Draco winced. How disgustingly _Gryffindor._

"Greetings, students!" Dumbledore announced jovially. "Welcome to your Halloween Ball! Quickly now, just a few announcements. Anyone caught giving an...extra kick to the punch will receive several weeks detention with Mr Filch. Please remain within the confines of the Great Hall where possible, although supervision will be provided in the Entrance Hall should you need some fresh air." He beamed again. "That being said, please, come in and enjoy yourselves!"

The great throng of students cheered and moved as one towards the doors, chattering excitedly about the evening to come.

--

An hour later found Draco standing to the side of the dance floor with Pansy, laughing with Blaise and Daphne over the little Creevey kid, who had actually _chosen _to dress up as Harry Potter, complete with glasses, messy black hair and a drawn-on lightning bolt scar. Potter seemed too mortified to even look at him.

Draco was just about to head off to get Pansy some more punch when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Turning, Draco found himself face to face with Dumbledore the Pheonix, his deeply aggrieved expression at complete odds with his ridiculous costume.

"Mr Malfoy," he said seriously. "I think it best if you come with me to my office."

"Why?" Pansy interrupted, pouting. She had, by now, had more than enough of the spiked punch, and was considerably tipsy. "Draco can't go _yeeeett, _Professor Dumbledore. We haven't danced to my favourite song yet."

"Unfortunate as that is, Miss Parkinson, it is imperative Mr Malfoy comes with me immediately," Dumbledore said firmly, and with a little gesture to Draco set off through the crowd.

'What on earth is going on?' Draco wondered, but knowing he had no choice, hurried after the Headmaster through the gossiping students.

Dumbledore refused to answer any of Draco's questions as he led him through corridors and up staircases, until finally they stopped in front of a gargoyle statue.

"Password?" The statue asked.

"Chocolate Frogs."

"Correct," said the statue, and made way for Dumbledore and Draco to be carried up to where the door to Dumbledore's office was. Dumbledore gestured in Draco before him, then shut and locked the door.

"Please, have a seat, Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore said, pointing to the soft chair placed before his desk.

Draco sat, watching Dumbledore's tail feathers drag along the floor as the Headmaster took his seat opposite him.

"I apologise for interrupting your enjoyment of the Halloween Ball," Dumbledore said, peering at Draco over his half-moon spectacles. "However, I received word of something which has happened that I thought you should be informed of immediately." The look he gave Draco was so reminiscent of pity, of compassion, that Draco felt a chill shoot up his spine. Whatever this was, it couldn't be good if it would cause Dumbledore to be nice to him.

"Five minutes ago St Mungo's sent word to me that your mother had been admitted to their hospital. According to the Healer in charge of her, she appeared suddenly in their lobby, on the floor as though dumped there, and was found to be heavily bloodied, her limbs broken in several places and was unconscious. They have admitted her to one of their intensive care wards, and as we speak are doing all they can for her." Dumbledore breathed in sharply through his crooked nose. "All indications so far point to her being tortured. By whom is unclear, although I have my guesses."

Draco stared blankly at the pattern of feathers on Dumbledore's right wing. Red, gold, gold, gold, red, red, gold...

"I want to say to you, Mr Malfoy, how very, very sorry I am to impart this news to you. It grieved me to hear it, and I do not relish the retelling."

Draco absently licked his suddenly dry lips. "You-Know-Who," he croaked.

"I'm sorry?"

"Your guesses...there's only one, isn't there? It was You-Know-Who."

Dumbledore stared at him for a moment, his electric blue gaze piercing, and then sat back in his chair as though suddenly tired. "Voldemort is my guess, yes."

"Is she..." Draco swallowed and tried again, "My mother...is she...I mean, is she going to be..."

"The Healers are doing everything they can for her," Dumbledore repeated, as though saying the words would make her automatically okay. But she wouldn't be. Draco could tell it from Dumbledore's expression. It was bad, it was seriously bad. He attempted to address the main thing demanding an answer.

"Why would...I...my Dad...why would she be..."

Dumbledore smiled kindly at him in a way that made Draco wish he had the energy to rip that smile off his damn face. "Your father being a considerably important part of Voldemort's inner circle, you wonder why Voldemort would torture your mother? That, I do not know, Draco. Needless to say that it has happened, and we must deal with things as they are for the present."

_We? What have you got to deal with? My mother, my MOTHER..._

"I am truly sorry, Draco, more sorry than I can say." And he did look it too, the wrinkles on his face seeming like they were all drooping straight down, dragging the wizened old face and his feathers to the desk top. "You are of course excused from the rest of tonight's festivities, and I will keep you well updated with what information St Mungo's provides me."

"Thank you, Professor," Draco choked. He stood, managed a perfunctory bow, and got the hell out of there.

--

_Tortured. Tortured into insanity as a lesson, because Lucius Malfoy had failed to find some crucial information Voldemort needed. It wasn't even carried out by Voldemort himself – that lackey called Wormtail had done it. Crucioed for hours on end. Arms and legs broken. His mother's blood on the white tiles of the St Mungo's lobby._

_His mother, his beautiful, loving mother, confined to spend life in the long-term residence ward of a hospital, her mind no longer amongst the sane._

_A week after all the sordid details emerged, a week of enduring shocked stares and hissing whispers in the corridors, Draco went to Dumbledore._

'_I want to kill Wormtail,' he'd said clearly. 'I want to fight against You-Know-Who. I want to avenge my mother._

_Help me.'_

--

_June 2__nd__, 2000 – St Mungo's Hospital_

As it transpired, the Janus Thickey ward for long-term residences of the hospital permanently affected by spell damage was just down the corridor from the emergency rooms Draco had been rushed to on the fourth floor. It wouldn't take long to take Draco to see his mother.

The main thing would be convincing him they weren't lying.

Harry sat on one of the hard-backed seats on the main fourth floor landing, chin in hands, watching as the lifts slid open and closed and the bustle of patients, Healers and visitors continued back and forth. They'd had to leave the night before once visiting hours ended, upon which Hermione had convinced Harry to stay the night at her and Ron's apartment. It had clearly been a move to ensure Harry wouldn't have to face the emptiness of his own apartment without Draco, but for once he was grateful for Hermione's intervention.

They'd gone over it for a while, discussing approaches, various ways to get Draco to come with them and see his mother, some way to convince him that they weren't spinning some fantastical lie. Harry had to admit, if the situation was reversed, he'd have a hard time believing he was missing nearly five years of memory. Which was, of course, essentially what the task here was, notwithstanding trying to explain _why_ the memory loss had occurred in the first place.

Harry was horrified at the thought that Draco would have resorted to what he did. _Animus, _of all places. When Draco knew how Harry felt about that particular establishment, indeed, that particular line of work. Harry was disgusted at their notion that simply erasing an unpleasant memory would make everything better. No, in his opinion, that was not the way to deal with things. When faced with difficulty, with tragedy...those things had to be faced up to and dealt with, not just swept away as though they never were. Doing so, in Harry's opinion, would only prolong the underlying problem, only make things worse when the really bad stuff hit you. He should know. He had a lot of experience with tragedy.

Not for the first time since the incident, Harry felt the cold sting of remorse, of guilt, deep in the pit of his stomach. He'd had no idea the memories from the war were affecting Draco that badly. If only he'd been less involved with the post-war round up of criminals, spent more time with Draco, he would've realised his boyfriend was really suffering, was truly in agony, was actually considering going to Animus to take the pain away.

Harry exhaled slowly, moving his head back to lean against the wall. He stared at the fluorescent lighting above him. He remembered all too well the death of Lucius Malfoy. He remembered a shout of the death curse, a flash of green light, a thump behind him. He remembered the brief, heart-stopping moment when he'd seen a pale blonde haired figure dead on the ground and imagined it to be Draco. He remembered the knee weakening realisation that Draco was alive, standing nearby, his grey eyes glinting, his wand extended towards his dead father.

He remembered the blank look on Draco's face.

Harry was not a betting man. He'd never been involved with much to do with gambling, except the odd wager back at school, the most prominent being the House pool on how long it would take Ron and Hermione to wake up to themselves (6 years, 7 months, 10 days).

But if anyone had asked him, he would've bet all the money inherited from his parents in his Gringotts vault that, more than any other, that was the memory Draco would have wanted to erase. That was what had driven him to make an appointment with Animus. Draco had killed his own father to save his lover's life. Even though Draco loved Harry, Harry knew there had once been a time where Draco would've loved his father even more.

And there was a tiny, selfish part of Harry that found that hard to bear.

"Harry," Hermione said softly, startling Harry from his reverie. She was back from the upstairs tea room, standing next to him, holding some bottles of Butterbeer. She handed one to him. "Drink this. It'll make you feel better."

"Thanks, 'Mione," Harry said quietly, accepting the proffered bottle and unscrewing the lid. Taking a sip, he closed his eyes on the familiar rushing warmth which pooled in his belly from the liquid.

"Ron's just ducked out to the toilet, but he'll be here in a moment." She took a seat beside him, shifting the remaining bottles in her arms, and then turned to look at him. "What do you think?"

There was no need for clarification as to what she was referring to. "I don't know, now it comes to it, if getting Draco to meet his mother now is such a good idea," Harry said slowly. "It changed his entire world back in fifth year. Imagine what it could do now, that he's..."

"...in fifth year," Hermione finished for him, smiling a little ruefully. "I think I agree. It took him months to get to a point where it didn't totally cut him up inside back then, didn't it?"

Harry nodded. "Of course, that was when I was trying to befriend him. I'm glad I hung on for the ride. He was such a mess though, 'Mione...I would hate to make him go through that again."

"He's going to have to find out sometime though, Harry," she reminded him gently. "If what Gregorius said is true, and I'm inclined to believe him, we won't be able to reverse what's happened. We can only deal with things as they are. He'll have to find out sooner or later, about his mother, about his father, about..." she hesitated, "...about his relationship with you."

"I know." Harry made a frustrated noise, agitatedly running his hands through his messy black hair. "I don't want to expect anything from him, but...'Mione, I love him so much. What if, in the end, he chooses differently? He's not the Draco we know. He's the Malfoy we used to hate. What if it's all too hard, and...?"

"Shhh," Hermione comforted him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders and squeezing reassuringly. "He fell in love with you once. I'm sure he'll do so again."

That was how Ron found them a few minutes later, Hermione with her arm around Harry, trying her best to soothe him.

"I've been thinking, guys," Ron said by way of greeting, flopping into the seat on the other side of Harry. They both turned to look at him.

"I don't think my original suggestion was that good of an idea. Draco's mother..." he winced, "...well, her condition is a lot to take in even for someone not related to her."

"We were just saying the same thing, actually," Hermione said, straightening up. She turned her worried gaze to Harry. "Is there something else we can do?"

Harry was silent for a moment, gnawing on his lip. "I think," he said slowly, "maybe what's best for the moment is to let Draco recover. His brain has just taken a fair amount of damage, after all, and it's possible that overloading him with more information isn't going to help anything." Seeing Hermione's frown, he held up a hand to pre-empt her lecture. "I know I can't avoid telling him everything," he said tiredly, "but I just think for a few days he needs to recover. You saw what he was like when he woke up last night. It'll be even worse if we try and dump everything on him."

Ron nodded. "I didn't mind Draco, honestly Harry, but when he goes into that 'I am Malfoy and I am holier-than-thou' persona...it gets on my bloody nerves. I thought we'd never have to deal with that immature little brat again."

"Neither did I, Ron." Harry rubbed his eyes. "I got so used to him the way he was, I let myself forget what he used to be."

"Healer Gregorius!" Hermione blurted suddenly, jumping to her feet. Indeed, the Healer put in charge of Draco had just stepped out of the lift, intensely scribbling on a clipboard. He glanced up at her voice, and he smiled somewhat tiredly at the sight of the three of them. "Mr Potter, Ms Granger, Mr Weasley," he greeted them, crossing the landing to where they sat. "I'm just about to go into Mr Malfoy," he said. "If you would kindly wait here, I will be back in a moment to inform you of his condition."

"Thank you," Harry said sincerely.

Gregorius smiled slightly, inclined his head, and disappeared down the double doors to the Spell Damage wards, leaving Harry and his friends to continue worrying.

--

_DAILY PROPHET EXCLUSIVE: ANIMUS SPECIALIST UNDER INVESTIGATION, DRACO MALFOY INJURED, STILL IN ST MUNGOS_

_In a shock incident, Draco Malfoy, 20, of London, was severely injured and rushed to St Mungo's yesterday following an alleged 'accident' taking place during an appointment with memory-erasure specialists, Animus. Mr Malfoy was injured at around 2:20pm yesterday afternoon when a standard Animus memory erasure procedure was performed on him by Diagon Alley branch Head Specialist, Miss Lucia Hevelle. The spell allegedly went wrong, with a team of St Mungo's Healers called at 2:25pm to attend Mr Malfoy._

_St Mungo's Chief of Medicine, Dr Archibald Braxas, issued the following statement last night: 'Draco Malfoy has been placed in the emergency ward under the diligent care of our most highly trained Healers, and we hope for him to make a speedy recovery." When pressed for details on Mr Malfoy's current health, Dr Braxas declined further comment. Inside sources can vouch, however, that Mr Malfoy is definitely still alive. The exact extent of his injuries, meanwhile, is unknown._

_Lucia Hevelle was taken into custody following the incident for questioning by the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Augustus Ridgeworth. Animus is the most prominent in a controversial range of memory alteration and erasure businesses which have emerged following the psychological and emotional trauma suffered by survivors of the War. Opinion in the wizarding world has recently been divided regarding the operation of these businesses. A spokesperson for the British Association of Psychologists for the Furthering of Wizarding Mental Health, who have been particularly outspoken on the issue, said in a statement last night, "This incident is a timely reminder to the wider public that no conceivable good can come from trying to wipe away people's experiences and memories."_

_It is presumed that Mr Malfoy, the acknowledged partner of the Boy-Who-Lived, will remain in St Mungo's for treatment. Mr Harry Potter was unable to be reached for comment on the incident by this reporter. Likewise, Animus has blockaded all contact about the incident. _

_The Daily Prophet will strive to follow this shocking story in its entirety._

--

"But I don't want to," Harry groaned in complaint, scowling at the sheaf of parchment, quill and pot of ink Hermione had placed before him.

"But Draco asked," she wheedled, poking him in the shoulder. "He specifically asked Gregorius if he could see his friends. You know what that means."

"I know we called a truce and everything, but..."

"...but you hate the way Pansy fawns around Draco whenever she sees him," Hermione finished tartly. "Honestly! Why is it so hard for you to see that this is the best thing for Draco right now? Will you let yourself be so blinded by jealousy that you'll refuse Draco the sight of his best friends? That you won't realise that Pansy is a grown up, like us, and will understand the importance of the situation? That she's _married, _for Merlin's sake?"

"I just don't want to," Harry muttered sullenly.

"For Draco," she reminded him. "It's for him. They won't just burst in willy nilly, blurting everything out to him. We'll talk to them beforehand. They've matured. They fought against Voldemort. They were worried about him. They love him, like we do."

Harry sighed irritably, picked up a quill and jabbed it into the ink. "Fine, he mumbled, setting quill to parchment. "But that doesn't change the fact that I hate the way Pansy fawns over him all the bloody time."

--

Mr and Mrs Blaise Zabini arrived at St Mungo's late that afternoon. Pansy and Blaise had started going out early on in seventh year, and had gotten married just before the War really began to pick up. Harry still felt uncomfortable being around the ex-Slytherins. He knew they resented his monopolisation of Draco's time, thoughts and attention. Plus he was uneasy about how they would react to this whole situation.

Pansy was resplendent in rich, silken robes. She smiled rather courteously at Ron and Hermione and even managed a grimace in Harry's direction. "Weasley, Granger, Potter. "

Blaise wore billowing, pale grey robes which contrasted with the deep chocolate tone of his skin. He didn't smile, instead merely inclining his head in greeting.

"Thank you so much for coming on such short notice," Hermione said breathlessly.

Pansy waved a hand, on which she wore several very expensive-looking rings. "We would've shown up anyway, if not today then tomorrow. The papers are having a field day over this, you know."

Ron nodded, looking grim. "They say that Animus specialist is being held custody by the Ministry."

"Well, one can only hope the incompetent bitch gets what she deserves," Pansy said breezily, as though they were discussing the weather.

"One can only hope," Hermione echoed, somewhat faintly, although there was a hard edge in her voice. She glanced at Harry as though appealing him to speak next. With an air of steeling himself for an unpleasant task, Harry addressed Blaise and Pansy.

"As I said in the letter, Draco wants to see you. Both of you, and only the two of you. In his current state...well, we're not his favourite people at the moment."

"Well, out with it, Potter!" Pansy said impatiently. "You said in the letter it was so complicated you'd have to explain everything in person. Just what exactly is Draco's current state?"

Hermione jumped in, accustomed as she was to supplying information. Harry felt the mad urge to laugh – this particular nuance of his bushy-haired friend seemed ridiculously comforting all of a sudden. "While Draco is physically sound, apart from a rather severe headache, the incident at Animus has had a...well, rather interesting effect on him, mentally. It _seems _somewhat crazy, but I'm afraid it's all too true...from Draco's behaviour since he regained consciousness, he's been acting as though he were fifteen again."

At Pansy's sharp inhalation, Harry piped up. "Fifteen year old Draco before he found out about his mother," he interjected.

Blaise raised an elegant dark eyebrow. Pansy's eyes were wide in disbelief and horror.

"When he woke up yesterday," and now it was Ron's turn to speak, "it was like the last five years had never happened. He told Healer Gregorius that he was fifteen and that the current year is 1996. Bloody hell," Ron added, running his hands through his flame-coloured hair. "He's become the sneering, arrogant prick I thought we'd never see again."

"For your information, Weasley, there are some of us who have known Draco for far longer than you and who loved him even when he was like that," Pansy snapped irritably, but her gaze was distant, her expression parts full of amazement, of speculation, of horror. Her dark eyes shot to Harry. "So you're telling me that he doesn't know...?"

Harry shook his head in the negative. "About his mother. About his father. About me, about you guys, even truly about what's happened to him. Nothing. Not yet."

"Not yet?" Blaise repeated slowly, his deep voice rumbling. "What do you mean 'not yet', Potter? Surely he has a right to know?"

"He does," Harry said quickly, "and he will. Find out about everything, I mean. Just...we discussed it with Healer Gregorius, and he agrees with us. With me. Draco's mental state is fragile at best right now. It wouldn't be the best thing to load him with everything, especially not at once. You know better than we do..." Harry gestured hopelessly towards the Spell Damage corridor, at the end of which Narcissa Malfoy was living out her days. "I mean, we only taught the tail end of what that did to him the first time around."

"And that's just one small piece of the puzzle," Hermione interjected. "You have to keep in mind that he doesn't remember anything beyond around the first month of fifth year."

"I see." Pansy exhaled sharply now through her nose. "So Draco wants to see us. You're the man with the plan, Potter. What are we meant to do?"

She was addressing Harry, but it was Ron who answered. "Talk to him," Ron said, "but...only give away what information you need to. He's realised by now this isn't a childish prank against him...I think."

Hermione piped up. "If he can be made to understand, to accept, that something has happened to him...that's he's suffered some brain damage in an accident and that, well, his perception of reality isn't quite totally up to date, as such. Whatever you say to him, he will be glad to see you both."

"Should we tell him we're married?" Blaise asked.

Hermione hesitated. "Maybe. I don't know. That decision really rests with the both of you, honestly. It's up to you."

Blaise and Pansy exchanged glances. "I think we should,' Pansy said softly, taking Blaise's hand and squeezing it affectionately. "I want him to know about us."

Blaise held her eyes for a moment. Seeming to find whatever it was he was looking for in her gaze, he straightened his back resolutely and turned to face the others.

"Get the Healer, Potter," he ordered. "We're ready to see him."

_TBC _

**AN: Wow. I haven't had such closely consecutive updates in a story since I wrote Only In My Dreams. I'm in love with writing this story right now, so let's see if I can keep this up. **

**I'm interested to hear opinions, on...well, pretty much anything, any issue I've raised in this story. Most especially the Narcissa thing. I wrote that flashback scene in about 20 minutes, and really enjoyed doing so. I don't think at this stage Draco will come face to face with his mother yet. Not for a while, at least. But yeah, seriously, I've been in my own happy little writing bubble so I'd really love as much feedback as possible on the story so far. Please review!**

**Until next time, **

**bleedingxheart**


	4. The Release

**AN: Not much to say this time around...thanks to everyone who's been reviewing. Hope you guys enjoy this new chapter.**

Chapter Four: The Release

_**December 30**__**th**__** 1996**_

Harry secured his Invisibility Cloak more tightly around himself, knowing that if Filch caught him out of bed this late at night, he would be assigned detention for months. He'd taken to wandering the corridors of Hogwarts some nights, when he couldn't sleep or when his scar was particularly paining him. He loved the silence, the peace, the emptiness of the halls giving way to his footsteps echoing ahead of him. There was no other time he got to be quite so alone.

Harry was currently roaming around the third floor, and as he turned a corner, pondering whether it was time to make the trek back to Gryffindor Tower, he stopped quite dead. There ahead of him on the ground, slumped against the wall, head in hands, was Draco Malfoy.

This was the first time he'd been in quite so near proximity to Malfoy since everyone had found out what had happened to Narcissa Malfoy. Draco had withdrawn, spending time only with Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini, no longer holding court at the Slytherin table, no longer antagonising Harry or his friends, not even bothering to call Hermione Mudblood when the opportunity presented itself. All of Hogwarts knew that Draco Malfoy was a shadow of his former self.

Harry had surprised himself at the overwhelming sympathy he'd felt when he'd found out about Draco's mother. He knew all too well that Voldemort had the power to take one's family away, to rip whole families apart, and to destroy lives. He found himself sometimes, when he thought about the whole thing late at night or when he saw Draco, pale and silent, at mealtimes, feeling drawn to Draco, wishing he could comfort him, talk to him, find out how he was coping and if there was anything Draco needed. It was hard to maintain a childish rivalry when said rival was in such a sorry state. Harry had never been much for kicking someone while they were down.

It was all these things and more which made Harry hesitate only briefly before directing his footsteps towards the blonde against the wall.

At the sound of Harry's approach, Malfoy's head snapped up, his cold grey eyes glinting in the reflection of the torchlight, staring suspiciously around in the darkness. "Who's there?" he croaked. Harry's heart dropped to see the red lining his eyes, the dark bags beneath them.

Impulsively, Harry reached up and removed his cloak, letting it drop from his shoulders to hang over his arm. Fully revealed, he stood over Malfoy.

Malfoy stared, mouth agape, at the silky material in Harry's hands. "Potter! What the hell? An _invisibility cloak,_ Potter? How did you..."

"Sorry for sneaking up on you," Harry apologised, tucking the cloak away.

"So you should be!" Malfoy snapped, glaring at Harry. "Fuck, I thought you were...but nevermind." His grey eyes flickered to the place in Harry's robes where the Invisibility Cloak had been stowed. "So that explains what happened at the Shrieking Shack."

Harry grinned – he couldn't help himself. "Scarred you did I, Malfoy?"

Something shuttered in the burning grey eyes, and they become cold and distant again. Malfoy lowered his gaze to his long, pale fingers, wringing them around and around each other. "I've had worse," he said, so quietly Harry could barely hear him.

"Hey, Malfoy." Malfoy glanced up at him, surprised by the suddenly gentle tone of Harry's voice.

"I'm so sorry for what happened to your mother."

"I don't need your fucking pity, Potter," Draco retorted at once, his eyes brimming with tears, his face twisted into an expression of pain.

"That's alright then, because I don't pity you." Harry watched the play of emotions of his former rival's face. "I'm sorry for you. I empathise with you. I know what it's like to have Voldemort take your family away."

"If you're even_ trying _to equate what happened to my mother with your parents, Potter..."

"I'm not," Harry said simply. "I'm just saying. If there's anyone who could come close to understanding what you're going through, it's me. I know the hurt you're feeling." Seeing that Malfoy had no furious retort for that, and had resumed his miserable study of his hands, Harry plunged on. "I don't hate you anymore. I can't hate you. I'm not even sure I dislike you that much. All that seems kind of pointless now."

Draco was silent for a moment more, and then looked back up at Harry, his expression blank. "What are you saying, exactly, Potter?"

Harry exhaled sharply through his nose, and moved to sit and lean against the wall besides Malfoy. Malfoy flinched away slightly, but otherwise didn't react. Harry studied his own hands as he responded.

"I don't know if we can be friends. I can't forget what you've done, the hurt you've caused my friends, and I guess it would be just as difficult for you to forgive some of the things I've said. But I guess...I'd like to try."

The silence that followed this statement dragged on so long that Harry eventually swivelled his head to check what Malfoy was doing. Malfoy, it seemed, still found his hands to be the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

With a little sigh, Harry pulled himself up and looked down at Malfoy. "Something to think about, I guess. Or not. Whatever you prefer, Malfoy. Goodnight, then. And I really am sorry about your mother."

Harry pulled his Invisibility Cloak back out from his robes, threw it over himself and turned and walked away, leaving Malfoy to watch him go.

_**5:00pm June 2**__**nd**__** 2000 – Emergency Care Ward, St Mungo's**_

Pansy stood before Healer Gregorius, hand in hand with her husband, and tried very hard to control her breathing. Years of experience as a Slytherin and a Parkinson had left her with the overriding need to present herself as cool, calm and in control at all times, but it was difficult to do so in a situation like this. Not since just her conversation with her father a year before about Blaise had Pansy felt quite so anxious.

The Healer was appraising them, having just finished lecturing them on what they were and were not to do around Draco. "If you're ready, Mr and Mrs Zabini, you can see him now," he said. "He's eagerly anticipating your visit."

Pansy squared her shoulders, and shot Blaise a grateful look from beneath her eyelashes when she felt him squeeze her hand reassuringly. "Of course, Healer Gregorius," she drawled in an imitation of her best friend's patented tone. "We're ready."

With a brief nod, the Healer turned and swung open the door to Draco's ward, stepping inside. "Mr Malfoy, your visitors are here," Pansy heard him say. Blaise followed Gregorius, and Pansy entered the room behind her husband.

Draco was sitting up in a nearby bed. Pansy couldn't help but gasp a little at the sight of her best friend. He still looked exactly the same in appearance as he had when she'd last seen him, a little over a week before. Draco had always sported an alluring alabaster complexion, and age had seen him grow into the pointed chin and sharp, refined features he'd inherited from his father. He had stopped slicking his hair back years ago. It currently rested just above his shoulders, ice-blonde and stylish, cut in a way to draw attention to his large, clear grey eyes. None of this was remarkable to her. There were two other things about him which were shocking.

First, simply, was his posture, his bearing. His entire demeanour had changed. She hadn't seen him look quite so haughty, his eyes cold and glinting, or hold himself quite so much like his father since...

_Ah._

Pansy's eyes flicked to the second thing which discomfited her: a scar, just visible beneath his hair on the right hand side of his head, not particularly large or prominent but so unsightly, so noticeable, when one kept in mind the usual perfection of Draco's appearance.

"Pansy, Blaise," Draco greeted them, a genuine smile lighting up his face. Back in the first few months of fifth year, they had always been the only ones Draco ever smiled, or laughed, around. After the incident with his mother, of course, it had been many months before Pansy saw him smile again. But this Draco was oblivious to that knowledge.

"I'll leave you now," Gregorius murmured to them. "If anything happens which requires my attention, please, just tap that Galleon on the side table." He pointed it out for them. "I'll be alerted immediately."

"Thank you, we will," Blaise returned quietly, but Pansy only had eyes for Draco.

"Draco, darling," Pansy breathed, and rushed forward to his bedside. Blaise followed at a slower pace as Gregorius shut the door behind him."How do you feel, Draco?" Blaise asked the blonde.

Draco scowled. "Like dung, frankly," he said, his slender fingers seemingly reaching up absentmindedly to trace the scar from the malfunctioned memory erasure. "I have the worst headache, and that incompetent Healer is yet to find a single thing to cure me of it. Worse, the Gryffindorks keep coming in." He looked at Pansy. "They won't tell me why I'm here, or why they're here. I wanted you. You two. You will tell me what's going on." The final sentence was less a request than an imperious command.

Pansy hesitated, long enough for Blaise to smoothly intercede. "Of course, Draco. As much as we can. We hate to see you like this."

Draco frowned suddenly, his grey eyes flickering from Pansy's face to Blaise's. "You two look...different," he commented, his head cocking to the side like it always had whenever he was trying to figure something out. With a frustrated groan, he rubbed his eyes. "The Gryffindorks too. You're all so..."

"We are different to what we were before, Draco," Pansy said carefully. "All of us. We've changed."

"You're a lot taller," Draco said decisively, staring up at Blaise's impressive near six foot frame. "I don't remember you being so tall."

Blaise nodded. "I'm five foot eleven."

Draco's mouth dropped open. "But...you can't be that tall! You're five foot eight, like me."

"No, I'm not. And you're not five foot eight either."

Draco laughed, a throaty, uncomfortable sound that made it seem like it was a function he rarely used. "Don't be an imbecile, Blaise. I know my own height. I'm fifteen, and I know that I'm five foot eight."

Making his own noise of frustration, Blaise pulled out his wand and murmured a spell. A silver mirror materialised in his hand. Slipping his wand back into his robes, Blaise handed the mirror to Draco. "Look at yourself for a second, would you?"

Eyes narrowed, Draco accepted the mirror and glanced into it. At once, he froze.

"Is that..." he took in his matured appearance, the longer hair, the telltale signs of ageing in his face. "That can't be me."

"It is, Draco," Pansy enthused, reaching out and running a hand through his silken blonde hair. "It really is."

Draco was tilting his face this way and that, examining himself from every angle. It was so comforting it made Pansy feel like crying – Draco had always been famed for his personal vanity. "I look good," Draco said in a half whisper.

"Of course you do," Pansy laughed. She felt like hugging him all of a sudden. Her boy, her best friend, her Draco.

Draco paused in mid action, turning his head slowly back to glare at the both of them. "Enough. You two. Explain, now. What in the name of the Merlin is going on?'

Pansy blew out a breath. They couldn't keep putting it off.

"You're here because you experienced an...accident, yesterday," Blaise said slowly. "It was quite a shock to your system."

"An accident?" Draco repeated, his eyes narrowed. "What kind of accident?"

Pansy spoke up. "It's...difficult to explain exactly what happened to you, but the Healers know that it affected your brain."

"My brain?" Draco sat up even further, an outraged expression on his handsome face. "If you're trying to suggest to me that I'm...mental, or something, Parkinson, I can assure you..."

"Not mental darling, no, I wasn't saying that," Pansy soothed quickly. "You suffered some brain damage, Draco, that's all. Nothing too bad..."

Blaise shot her a disgusted look. "Sweetheart, I hardly think that lying like that is going to help him," he said bluntly, and turned back to his friend. "What Pansy is trying to say is, you could be a lot worse off than you are now. But what we want you to try and understand is that the accident has affected your brain. There is no doubt of that. And I know it's crazy to think, but to be frank, your perception of reality isn't quite...well, let's just say it's not wholly up to date, per se."

Draco was looking more and more mutinous with every word Blaise spoke. "'Up to date'?" he repeated angrily. "Spit out what you really mean, Zabini!" His eyes widened, and he looked frantically between the two of them once more. "Wait just a moment, why did you just call Pansy sweetheart?"

"Blaise and I are together, Draco," Pansy said as calmly as she could, stepping closer to her husband and taking up his hand. "To be more exact, we're married."

Draco's grey eyes bugged, and his mouth dropped open to emit a strangled shriek of disbelief. "MARRIED? Are you two NUTS? Do your parents even know? No, no," he answered himself, "of course they don't, they never would have allowed marriage between fifteen year olds."

"We're not fifteen, Draco," Blaise said slowly. It was imperative that Draco understood this next point. Blaise had a sudden feeling he and his wife might be there for a very long while to explain what he would say next. "Pansy and I are both nineteen. It's not fifth year. The current year is 2000. We're nineteen, and we've been married for about eight months now. You, meanwhile...you're due to turn nineteen in about three days."

--

"It could've been worse," Ron said philosophically.

"Oh really, Weasley? Tell me, how could it have been worse than my husband having his nose broken?" Pansy snapped icily. They were gathered on the fourth floor, waiting for Healer Gregorius to return from sedating a very irate Draco Malfoy.

"Well, Gregorius fixed that in about a second, didn't he?" Ron persisted. "I'm just saying is all, Parkinson, that really, your beloved husband could be a lot worse off." Ron was clearly finding it difficult to summon any sympathy for Blaise, who was scowling darkly at the conversation. In fact, Ron seemed positively cheerful.

"Ron," Harry said tiredly, "Leave it."

Ron sighed and rolled his eyes, but slumped in his seat in defeat. "Leaving it," he said reluctantly.

"I suppose I should've expected that reaction," Blaise muttered, rubbing his tender nose. "He's always had a violent streak in him, especially in reaction to news he doesn't like."

"He had to find out," Hermione said firmly. "If not everything, at least that one crucial bit. We're a lot further than we were with him."

"And still nowhere," Harry murmured, reaching up to absently scratch his nose. "If that's how he reacts to simply finding out the year..."

Hermione rubbed Harry's shoulder sympathetically just as the door to the Spell Damage corridor opened and Gregorius stepped through. They converged on him at once, but he held up his hands to indicate they should be quiet. "He's been sedated quite easily, and will be out until tomorrow, I believe. Whilst I don't wholly condone your decision to inform Mr Malfoy of all that you did, Mr and Mrs Zabini, it doesn't seem to have done any lasting harm that I can perceive. As it is, I suggest you all go home for now. There's nothing more any of you can do here."

"Thank you, Gregorius," Harry said gratefully. He was starting to feel the lack of sleep from the night before.

"Yes, thank you," Hermione echoed. Pansy and Blaise merely nodded to the Healer as he bowed and hurried off to the lift.

Once he was gone, the group exchanged glances in silence. "What do we do now?" Ron piped up.

"Draco won't need to be in St Mungo's forever," Harry said, and then winced as Pansy and Blaise glared at him, clearly thinking of Narcissa Malfoy just down the corridor. "Sorry," Harry apologised, "sorry, I just...it's been a long couple of days."

"Of course it has, Potter," Pansy said. "And you're right. Sooner rather than later Draco won't need to be kept here all the time. Even though he's clearly as unstable as he was in fifth year, it will get to a stage where he can leave the hospital. And when it comes to that..."

"...we have to figure out where to take him, and what to do with him," Hermione finished.

"His home is with me," Harry said, more decisively and clearly than he'd said anything for hours.

"Yes, Potter," Blaise said with a roll of his eyes, "but how do you think fifth-year mindset Draco will take that news? 'Oh, and by the way Draco, for the past three years you've been buggering Harry Potter and been living with him as his lover since the end of school'?

Harry flinched, and Hermione glared at Blaise reproachfully. "Really, Zabini, you don't need to be so crude. Harry's right, the only other home Draco's ever had is Malfoy Manor, and he certainly can't go back there yet. It might be easier to just explain to Draco that he and Harry became...friends, by the end of school. At least we know their apartment is safe, and we'll be able to avoid the media circus for a while."

Blaise sighed and rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright, but anyone else other than me can break that news to him, when it comes to it. I do want to try and conserve my looks, you know, and I don't care to have my nose broken again."

--

_**Daily Prophet Front Page – June 15**__**th**__** 2000**_

_DRACO MALFOY RELEASED FROM HOSPITAL – ANIMUS STILL UNDER INVESTIGATION_

_LONDON: Two weeks on from the incident at Animus that shocked the wizarding world, Mr Draco Malfoy, 19, has been officially released from St Mungo's Hospital. After a visit to Animus, the memory erasure specialists a fortnight ago, an alleged accident on the part of Miss Lucia Hevelle, Head Specialist, left Mr Malfoy severely injured. He has been convalescing at the hospital since. Whilst the Chief of Medicine Reginald Braxas has remained stubbornly tight-lipped on details relating to Mr Malfoy's condition, a spokesperson addressed this reporter following Mr Malfoy's release. 'Mr Draco Malfoy's health has been deemed acceptable by our trained medical personnel, including the Healer in charge of his case, Healer Gregorius. He has been recovering well from the incident in his weeks here, and hospital officials consider his imminent release both appropriate and necessary.'_

_Public figures have expressed concern as to the appropriateness of releasing Mr Malfoy after such a short period of time since his incident, with one Ministry official describing the move as 'appalling.' Given that Mr Malfoy's exact condition has still not been made known to the public, public concern over the events seems inevitable._

'_I reckon it's a big cover up is what it is,' says Mrs Eleanor Evertein, proprietor of the Golden Galleon cafe in Diagon Alley. 'All me customers, and meself, are dying to know what's happened to Draco, how he's feelin', if he's gone loopy upstairs or not. Everyone I know wants that Animus place shut down for puttin' 'im in hospital in the first place.'_

_The establishment known as Animus has repeatedly declined comment on the issue, after it shut its doors temporarily last week in response to public outrage. The identity of its owner remains unknown, as all signs indicate everyone associated with Animus has gone to ground following this scandal. Ms Lucia Hevelle remains in custody of the Ministry as Augustus Ridgeworth continues investigations into the circumstances surrounding the incident. _

_Mr Harry Potter, 18, Mr Malfoy's long-term partner otherwise known to the wizarding world as 'the Boy-Who-Lived', is said to have been struggling to cope with events, although he remains thoroughly evasive of the public eye._

_The departure time and destination of Mr Malfoy from St Mungo's Hospital is unknown, although many speculate he will return to recuperate at his ancestral home Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire._

_--_

Augustus Ridgeworth had made a career out of being both professional and thorough. He was esteemed for his numerous capabilities, his talents in his field, his ability to apply himself to a case and solve it with seeming ease. He had risen through the ranks of the Department for years, and had attained his position as Head of Department through utter determination and hard work. He loved his job, and loved that he was good at it.

All these were reasons why he was finding the Animus case so very vexing.

Ridgeworth sat at his office desk, reading over a memo from a lesser peon of the Department assigned to perform a sweep of Lucia Hevelle's house. The report was discouraging, as had been every piece of information he'd found in front of him since the investigation commenced. Nothing incriminating. Nothing worthy of note. Nothing which could justify sentencing Lucia guilty for the attempted murder of Draco Malfoy.

Disgusted, Ridgeworth pushed the damn thing away and rubbed his eyes tiredly. The wizarding world was in an uproar. As the partner of their beloved Boy-Who-Lived, Draco Malfoy's hospitalisation had not gone down well with the public. People were baying for blood, for justice, for punishment to whoever was responsible. And logic dictated that the person responsible was the person who had aimed her wand at Draco Malfoy's head.

Evidence of that fact, however, was proving rather hard to come by. At least until he received a report from the specialists down in the Department of Magical Malfunctions and Maladies. They were meant to be compiling information for him, hypotheses of what exactly had caused the accident during the memory erasure procedure. Knowing the dunces that worked in there, he wasn't expecting anything particularly brilliant, but at this point, frankly, he was prepared to accept anything. 'It was an accident' wasn't a good enough reason for what had happened. He would have to tender his resignation on the spot if he delivered that verdict to the Wizengamot.

Heaving another sigh, Ridgeworth got up from the desk, his destination the Ministry tea room. He needed a coffee. Failing that, a shot of Firewhiskey would suffice.

--

_**5:30pm June 15**__**th**__** 2000 – St Mungo's Hospital**_

"Are you ready, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco shot Healer Gregorius a dark look. Over the time he'd been in this place, he'd come to a state of grudging respect for the Healer, even liking, but Draco hated inane questions. Especially inane questions that indicated he wasn't 100% ready to get the hell out of the hospital.

"Yes," Draco snapped, swinging himself out of bed. Pansy, dependable Pansy, was there, ready to support him, to guide him through the horror that awaited him. Over the past few weeks, since he'd gotten at least some kind of idea what had brought him to the hospital in the first place, she and Blaise had been his only source of comfort. He had apologised for breaking Blaise's nose, and insisted that the information they gave him rather justified his reaction.

Draco was fifteen. He felt like was fifteen. He'd _know _he was fifteen if everyone else wasn't so hell bent on insisting he wasn't. That he had in fact apparently turned nineteen five days ago, because he wasn't actually in his fifth year, he was in his second year out of school, and it was the year 2000 and Voldemort was dead.

_Voldemort _was _dead._

That had been one of many shocks delivered to him by his best friends and the annoyingly present Gryffindor Trio. The war was over, even though by his reckoning, it had never started. Voldemort was dead. The Death Eaters rounded up, arrested, executed. He'd made the connection straight away and demanded to know if his father was therefore dead as well. He'd wanted to throw something at the Mudblood, the Weasel and Potter for the looks the Gryffindor Trio had shared at that. His father had been a great man, fighting for a justifiable cause, trying to protect the futures of children like Draco.

There was one thing, one thing beyond the whole 'you're not really fifteen, it's all in your mind' thing that he found unbearable, impossible, horrifying. For days he had demanded of Pansy and Blaise exactly why the stupid Gryffindors were there, why they always were there, why Potter kept giving him these ridiculously pathetic, kicked-Kneazle looks whenever he was in Draco's presence.

He still shuddered to think of Pansy's explanation. Apparently, in this alternate reality that he didn't know anything about, he and Potter had been _friends. _Practically _best friends,_ according to Pansy. Draco had fought _against _Voldemort, side by side with precious hero Potter. His _friend. _His _roommate, _for crying out loud.

This was what Draco considered a very, very big downside of being released from the hospital. Yes, he didn't have to lie on the hospital bed day in day out, subjected to treatments and scans and questions from Gregorius. But leaving the hospital meant he had to go to a London apartment which apparently he and Potter had been happily co-inhabiting. And live there. With Potter. In the same apartment.

To say he didn't want to would be a complete understatement.

"Come on, darling," Pansy said soothingly, walking with him to the door of the ward. "It won't be that bad."

"Why can't I live with you and Blaise?" Draco wheedled for the millionth time as they emerged into the Spell Damage corridor.

"Because we're married, darling. We have our own house, our own life. And you, as you know very well, had yours."

"I don't want the life I had!" Draco complained. "Friends with _Potter, _Pansy! Potter! _Living _with Potter! Clearly in that other life I was deranged and didn't know what I was doing!"

"Speaking as witness to that other life, I can testify that yes, you certainly did. Look," Pansy was getting fed up with this argument, "if it bothers you that damn much you can find your own place. You can consider this a temporary situation if you like. No one's sentencing you to spending the rest of your life living with Harry, alright?"

"Harry, is it?"

"Oh honestly Draco, grow up," Pansy said impatiently. "I'm not friends with Harry, I never was, but I got past last name basis with him years ago. For your sake."

"Why should my friendship with Potter have dictated your relationship with him?"

Pansy got _that _look on her face. The look Draco had learned over the last fortnight that meant there was something she knew that she wasn't telling him. "You were..._very close _friends with Harry, Draco. You're my best friend, it wouldn't have done to do otherwise."

"Fuck, did I have anyone other than Potter?" Draco said exasperatedly. They were now in the lift, being carried smoothly down to the ground floor. Gregorius remained behind them, tactfully silent, but Draco had practically forgotten his presence. "Don't I have a girlfriend or something, somewhere, I could move in with?"

He definitely did not like the look of...was that amusement?...that flashed across Pansy's expression. "Not quite, no. You didn't have a girlfriend. Stop trying to weasel out of this. It's the best solution, at least temporarily. Blaise and I will be over all the time. We won't abandon you, you know that."

The lift dinged cheerfully to announce their arrival in the lobby of the hospital. Draco huffed in irritation, but relented. "Alright, alright. But mark my words, Pansy, I _do not like _this situation."

"I know you don't, you big baby," Pansy muttered under her breath as they set off across the lobby to where Blaise, Granger, Weasley and Potter were waiting.

"Malfoy," Granger greeted with a tentative smile. "How are you doing?"

"Laughing hysterically, Granger, thanks," Draco snapped back, and then fixed his gaze upon Potter. Potter was giving him another one of his weird looks, that seemed sad, hurt, anxious and desperately longing at the same time. "And you, Potter? I suppose you're just thrilled I'll be coming back to..." Draco swallowed, still finding it hard to get the words out of his mouth, "...to our apartment?"

Potter held his gaze, his expression never changing. It made Draco supremely uncomfortable. "As always, I'll be glad to be around you, Dr – Malfoy."

"Humph," Draco grunted, still discomfited by Potter. He hated this other-world Potter, if it was even possible, more than the Potter he remembered.

"Well," Gregorius interrupted, determinedly cheerful, "let's get on with it, shall we? Draco, if you could just come over here and sign these release forms...."

Half an hour later, after Gregorius had bid him farewell and reminded Draco of the weekly check up he would have to undertake, the group left the hospital.

"Quick," Granger said bossily, tossing something long and silken to Potter, "put this on until we get to a safe place to Apparate."

Draco stared, mouth agape, as Potter shook out the object. "An _invisibility cloak,_ Potter? How did you..."

Potter smiled faintly, as though remembering something that comforted him. "Nevermind, Dr – Malfoy. Just get under, we don't want the public to see us."

Rather outraged at the new knowledge that Potter had something else that he didn't, Draco grudgingly obliged, ducking under the cloak and nearly jumping a mile when he felt Potter's arm tentatively go to his waist.

"What the hell!?" he yelped.

"I'm sorry, it's the only way we'll fit," Potter said defensively, his cheeks colouring. "Come on, we have to get going."

Draco turned to Pansy in a silent plea, but the bitch was grinning at him. "You heard Harry, in you go. Time is Galleons, darling."

Swallowing down outrage and revulsion, Draco gritted his teeth and stepped forward once more, not quite managing to contain his flinch when Potter's warm arm slipped once more around his waist, securing the Invisibility Cloak around them. The group set out along the winding back alleys of London, Granger looking worriedly around them every now and then. Finally, she called them to a stop behind some trash cans. Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust at the stench.

"Alright, I think this will do," Granger announced. "Harry, Malfoy, you two go first."

Draco felt Potter nod beside him and, at the same time, felt panic rise in his chest. "But I don't know how to Apparate!" he burst out.

"It's okay, Dr – Malfoy," Potter said softly, his voice very close to Draco's ear. "Just hold onto my arm, we'll do Side-Along Apparition. Trust me, I'll take you."

Oh, the humiliation. Forced to rely on Potter. Gritting his teeth once more, Draco latched on to Potter's upper arm. He felt Potter's body move suddenly, away from him, and he struggled to maintain a grip...

He was enveloped in a sensation akin to being forced through a very tight rubber tube. Eyes bulging, chest aching, it was over as suddenly as it had began and he found himself standing with Potter in the middle of a medium-sized, well-decorated lounge room.

"Welcome home," Potter said quietly.

_TBC_

**AN: Reviews are good, yes? Reviews make me more inclined to keep writing. So you know what to do. ^^**

**Until next time,**

**bleedingxheart**


	5. The Homecoming

**AN: Thanks to the people who have been reviewing!**

**I want to just quickly say something to justify the multitude of flashbacks/reflective tones in the story. This story technically has two halves – the now and the then, which is why I'm writing so many flashbacks and constantly getting characters to reflect and look back and remember. **

**Memory, the nature of memory, the past, our experiences are all main themes of the story, so I feel that flashbacks showing what did happen deserve just as much writing time as showing what's happening to everyone in the story's present. I just wanted to clarify that in case it's irritating anyone. Take note, people – I like flashbacks, and I will be using them a lot!**

**Also, as I completely forgot to go back and add this to the previous chapter, please note that Draco can't go to Malfoy Manor because Remus and Tonks are living there. 'Kay? Coolio.**

Chapter Five: The Homecoming

_**April 21st 1997**_

Harry sped down the stairs from the boys' dormitory, struggling to maintain a speed which wouldn't make him terribly late and still manage to balance the many items he was carrying. He took the final few steps at a jump, sailing through the air magnificently and landing with a loud thud, drawing the attention of his two best friends, who sat nearby at the fireplace.

"Late again, Harry," Hermione stated, looking both amused and disapproving. "You'd better hurry."

"Yeah, Malfoy doesn't like being kept waiting," Ron added.

Harry merely shot them a look as he sped past, hightailing it to the common room portrait.

--

As Ron predicted, Draco was not happy at being kept waiting.

"Late again, Potter," he drawled as Harry dumped the assorted books and items in his hands onto a nearby table, and then flung himself, panting, into a chair.

"Shut up, I tried," Harry retorted, but he was grinning, and after a beat, Draco grinned too.

"One of these days you'll learn that it's terribly rude to keep someone waiting for you," Draco noted, idly inspecting his perfect fingernails.

"We can only hope," Harry answered, still grinning as he got to his feet, recovered from his sprint. "You ready to get to work?"

"Aren't I always, Potter?" Draco said, making a show of getting to his feet and dusting himself off. He removed his outer school robe, revealing the sleek, elaborate duelling clothing he had purchased for himself several months ago. And not for the first time, Harry felt his mouth go slightly dry at the sight. Ye gods, but Draco Malfoy could wear those pants.

The strange friendship that had developed between the two was as different as could be imaginable from that of Harry's friendship with Ron, or Hermione. Draco wanted practise fighting, duelling, honing his battle skills for the inevitable confrontations with Voldemort - and by extension, Wormtail - that would come. Harry could provide that practise. Harry didn't know if his olive branch, extended to Draco back in December, had been a major or minor part of this, but he supposed it didn't really matter. Certainly, it probably helped Draco that Harry was one of the few people who didn't avoid Draco's problems and feelings, who tiptoed around him like breathing on him would cause him to shatter. Harry wasn't afraid to argue with Draco, to be frank with him, to laugh about stupid things sometimes, to actually treat Draco like the human he was.

For the four months they'd been making the transition from rivals to duelling partners/friends, Harry had seen Draco at his worst, and vice versa. He'd been there for some of the breakdowns, when things became too much. Draco had been there the month before, when Molly Weasley had nearly been killed doing something for the Order and Harry felt like it was his fault.

Yes, extraordinary as it was, there could be no doubt they were friends, Harry mused. There was just one intsy problem, which highlighted itself when Draco bent over just so to adjust his pants and Harry's eyes zeroed in on the mighty fine sight of Draco Malfoy's arse. Harry had, in recent weeks, developed something of an impossible crush.

_And you'll never guess on who!_

"Alright, let's get started," Draco said almost cheerfully, straightening up and glancing over his shoulder at Harry in a manner which seemed far too come-hither for Harry's Draco-addled brain.

"Kay," Harry said thickly, swallowing. "You go over there, and...I'll go over here."

"Your eloquence continues to amaze me," Draco drawled with a grin, moving gracefully to the spot Harry had indicated. The Room of Requirement had been most willing to provide everything they needed for these little sessions. Along with a duelling platform and various items useful for spell practise, the Room provided lounges and tables for snacks, relaxation and study, whenever it came to that.

They began the duel, and Harry relaxed into the familiar rhythm, letting the concentration on what he was doing overtake the hyper awareness his body had developed for the other boy. It was so much easier, really, when Harry was allowed to focus on jinxes, hexes, charms, and not the many and varied charms of his opponent...

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Instantaneously, Harry's body was frozen, and he fell over backwards, paralysed, landing with a hard thud on the duelling platform. Smirking, eyes dancing with triumph and mirth, Draco put his wand away and approached Harry.

"Too slow, Potter!" he sang.

Unable to move, let alone reply, Harry attempted with all his might to get his frozen face to form into a glare.

"Oh, it's too wonderful, having you like this. You're so very powerless to resist me," Draco said.

Oh dear Merlin, why did everything the Slytherin say become sexual innuendo to Harry's mind? Why?

"I suppose I should be nice and release you." Heaving a mock long-suffering sigh, Draco pulled his wand from his pocket once more and raised it.

"Finite Incantantum!"

The ability to move returned in a rush to Harry. Unthinkingly, Harry immediately stuck out his foot and tripped Draco, wanting revenge on the blonde for catching him off guard and for being so goddamn distracting in the first place.

Most unfortunately, this was not the best idea he'd had, because tripping Draco when Draco was standing right next to him meant Draco, invariably, had to fall over, and he fell over right on top of Harry.

This, it turned out, was in parts both wonderful and horrible. Horrible, because Draco was deceptively heavy when he landed on top of you, but also wonderful because suddenly Harry found himself with his arms full of Draco, experiencing the feel of that warm body against the length of his, the silky smooth hair against his shoulder. On second thoughts, maybe that was a horrible part as well...

"Ouch." Draco's voice, muffled, emitted from where his face was buried against Harry's side, and he squirmed, attempting to free himself. Harry let out a startled whimper as Draco's movements stimulated the one part of his body that would be very, very bad to arouse right now, and Draco stopped dead, his eyes snapping up to Harry's face.

Slowly, very deliberately, he moved again, pressing down on Harry's crotch with his lower torso, which was currently matching up to that particular area of Harry's body. Almost involuntarily, Harry emitted a low moan, feeling himself getting rather aroused, and his cheeks burned with mortification. This was the end of that, then. Draco would run screaming from him, calling him a freak, a fag, a cock-lover, and the fragile friendship they had built would be shattered.

"I'm so very glad you like that," Draco breathed, and then he slithered up Harry's body, his mouth closing over Harry's in a deep kiss.

And Harry realised, even as his head began to spin under the passionate assault being laid upon his mouth and body by the writhing Slytherin above him, that the friendship wouldn't shatter. It would just morph into something better, and stronger.

--

_**June 15**__**th**__** 2000**_

Once it had been determined that Draco would be coming back to live in the apartment he and Harry had been sharing, Harry and Hermione had done a mad dash around the place, removing any evidence of the romantic relationship that had once been between Draco and Harry. Harry had found it hurtful, to say the least, to have to pack away mementos of their time together. Draco was, after all, still getting over the idea of himself just as Harry's friend. It didn't change the fact that Harry ached to have his boyfriend, his lover back. It had now been several weeks without a hug, a kiss, even a light-hearted exchange, and Harry felt like he had become trapped in the early months of fifth year all over again.

Their apartment was miles away from the splendour of Malfoy Manor. Remus Lupin, Harry's old professor, along with his wife Tonks, had taken up residence in the ancestral Malfoy home. Following Lucius Malfoy's death, in the weeks after the end of the war, Draco had agreed to allow his cousin Tonks to live in the Manor. His childhood home held too many memories for Draco, who had insisted he'd prefer to live with Harry in London. It seemed ironic now that Draco didn't even have many of those memories anymore.

Together, Harry and Draco had decorated their apartment, incorporating both Draco's penchant for elegance and style and Harry's need for comfort. The apartment held a bathroom, a kitchen/dining area, a bedroom and a lounge room, the room they had apparated into. A combination of wizarding and Muggle art decorated the walls, and opposite a large, comfortable blue suede futon lounge sat a widescreen TV. There was a well-stocked bookshelf on one side as well.

Harry was watching Draco for his reaction. Draco's grey eyes flicked around, taking in the surroundings, and settled upon the TV. "What in Merlin's name is that thing?" he said incredulously, stepping back from it.

"A Muggle television," Harry replied, half amused and half sad at Draco's reaction to the TV, exactly the same as it had been when Harry had initially bought it. "It's like...you watch shows, pictures on it. It's entertainment."

Draco sneered at it. "Pretty pathetic entertainment, by the looks of it."

"Sometimes. But there's some things on there which aren't rubbish."

Draco didn't deign to answer, still gazing around the room. "Is this it, Potter? Is this all we lived in?"

"Of course not," Harry said, stung. "There's other rooms as well. This is just the lounge room."

At that moment, Ron, Blaise, Pansy and Hermione all apparated into the apartment.

"Nice digs, Potter," Pansy commented, glancing around.

"Shall we get some dinner going, then?" Hermione asked lightly, already heading for the kitchen.

"Absolutely," Harry said a little too quickly, hastening to join her. He didn't know how much more he could take around the boyfriend who wasn't his boyfriend. Once they were both in the kitchen, he told Hermione as much.

"I don't know if I can handle this, 'Mione," Harry said unhappily, rummaging around in the cupboards for some pans. "It'll be...I mean, it's hard. Already. It'll get harder. He's..." Harry swallowed and lowered his voice. "I love him so much, and he doesn't know it. "

Hermione looked sadly at her friend, his slumped shoulders, his miserable expression. At times like these it was hard to not hate Draco for going to Animus in the first place and putting them both through this.

"Shhh," she soothed, moving to put a hand on his shoulder and rubbing it comfortingly. "Look, let's just...see how it goes. We'll take what happens as it comes, like we've always done, OK? Just get through the first night to start with."

At that moment they heard a loud shriek from down the hallway, sounding like it was coming from the bedroom.

Harry simply said, "Draco," and took off.

--

As it turned out, it wasn't a murder attempt or a kidnapping or anything horrible which should have logically warranted the shriek. No, what had set Draco off was the discovery, during a tour of the apartment with Pansy, Ron and Blaise, was that in the bedroom there was only one double bed.

"You are all completely off your NUT if you think I'm sleeping in the same bed as Potter!" Draco was yelling as Harry and Hermione tore into the room. As they watched, his eyes grew wider and wider, looking from the bed to Harry and back again, and then suddenly he was screaming again. "WHY THE HELL IS THERE ONLY ONE BED IN THE FIRST PLACE?!" he shrieked.

Hermione stood horror struck in the doorway. Of all the things to overlook....she thought fast.

"Because Harry's such a _good friend _that he let you have the bedroom when you guys moved in, and he took the futon," she called over Draco's inarticulate yells. Every head in the room swivelled to look at her, the expression on Harry's face saying '...I did?'

Draco blinked, and then exhaled slowly. "Okay. Good. Thank Merlin. For a moment I thought that we..." he looked at Harry and grimaced, "well, never mind. I guess I should have expected Boy Wonder to selflessly sacrifice his own comfort for a friend." His sharp grey eyes flicked to Harry. "Thanks, Potter."

There was a beat of silence. "Don't mention it."

Dinner was not the most comfortable affair. He and Hermione, working together, produced a reasonable casserole, complete with carrots, potatoes, beans and garlic bread on the side. The six of them managed to crowd around the four-person table. Harry, inevitably, ended up seated beside Draco, who spent the meal making a show of trying to keep himself from touching Harry, even in the slightest. With the size of the table, it was impossible, but it didn't stop Draco from jerking his knee or elbow away every few minutes.

After dinner was over, the group ended up in the lounge room, arranged around the comfy chairs and lounges.

"So..." Draco looked around to each of them in turn, "I think you people owe me some more answers."

All of them shifted uncomfortably. Draco had been gathering small pieces of information day by day, but there were a lot of major things he hadn't been told yet about the years he couldn't remember.

"I want to know about the war." A wince rippled through the room. "How did anyone manage to defeat You-Know-Who?"

All eyes turned to Harry, who swallowed and said, as firmly as he could, "I did. It was the hardest thing I've ever done, but...I managed it in the end. I killed him."

The others looked to Draco, whose expression was inscrutable. "Right, Potter. But how?"

"He..." Harry took a deep breath. "Thanks to Dumbledore, I found out in sixth year that Voldemort had created...Horcruxes."

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "Horcrux_es? _More than one?"

"Six, to be exact. Seven fragments of his soul, divided through the murders of innocent people." The level of anger and disgust in Harry's tone rose as he spoke. "Dumbledore told me the key to defeating Voldemort, before anything else, was to destroy the parts of Voldemort's soul that had been separated from his body. Only then could I even hope to face off against him with any chance of victory."

"Why you, though?" A slight sneer appeared on Draco's face. "You're the Boy-Who-Lived and everything, yeah, but you're just...well, you're not..."

"I know I'm not really anything special," Harry said with some dignity. "I'm not exceptionally good at much, except maybe Quidditch, and some defensive spells. "But there was...a prophecy, told by Trelawney just before Voldemort murdered my parents. Snape was nearby when she told it, but he only heard a part of it."

Draco looked deeply sceptical. "A prophecy? Dear Merlin, could you think any higher of yourself? _Destined _to destroy You-Know-Who..."

"I DON'T!" Harry yelled, his anger so sudden and unexpected that Draco stopped mid-sentence. "I don't," he repeated quietly, looking wary. "The prophecy talked about someone born at the end of July to people who had defied Voldemort three times. Voldemort would mark the person as an equal, but they would have a power he didn't know, and further, that neither could live while the other survived. The prophecy could've applied to me, or to Neville Longbottom."

Draco outright laughed at this. "Longbottom? Are you serious? Longbottom, the saviour of the wizarding world?"

"Voldemort picked me." Harry's voice became stronger, clearer. "He marked me as his equal. It was me, and not Neville. I didn't understand for a long time that the last part of the prophecy didn't mean I _had _to kill Voldemort." He straightened his shoulders and looked Draco dead in the eye. "But it was you, Draco, who helped me realise, and deal with the fact, that I _wanted _to."

There was dead silence for a few moments. Hermione, Ron, Pansy and Blaise watched, riveted, as Draco stared, thunderstruck, at Harry and Harry looked calmly back.

"Me?" Draco said.

"Yes, you," Harry said firmly. "You were..." he hesitated slightly, "...a very good friend to me when I was finding out about all that. You helped me a lot. You inspired me to crave revenge against him, to want to kill him."

Draco was still, staring blankly at Harry. He spoke in a whisper. "I plotted against the Dark Lord?"

Pansy interjected now. "Of course you did. You switched sides in fifth year. By the summer holidays before sixth year you were...friends, with Potter. Threw Blaise and I for a loop that year, deciding what to do, where our loyalties were..."

"But why would I ever have changed sides?" Draco said through gritted teeth. He looked furious, although whether it was with the self he couldn't remember, with Harry, or even with Pansy or Blaise it was hard to tell.

Everyone hesitated at this. Such a crucial, pivotal piece of information...

"Voldemort...committed a very great hurt, a very great insult, to your family," Hermione spoke softly. "He caused you a lot of pain, Dr-Malfoy. After that, you were determined to switch sides and fight against him, even if it meant going against your father's wishes."

Draco was silent, chewing his lip. Everyone watched him anxiously.

His gaze flicked around the group. "I think I've had enough information for one night."

Relieved, the others exhaled. It was hard, giving Draco enough information to make him feel they weren't keeping everything from him but still concealing the three huge things which they all agreed he wasn't ready to know yet.

"We'll get going, in that case," Hermione said, getting to her feet, Ron following suit. Pansy and Blaise began to prepare to leave as well. Hermione hugged Harry goodbye, trying to reassure away the sudden panic in his eyes.

"It'll be fine," she murmured quietly into his ear.

Ron hugged Harry as well. Pansy and Blaise, meanwhile, hugged Draco goodbye, and likewise Pansy did her best to reassure her still-angry best friend. "It's just Potter," she whispered. "You were friends with him for a reason, you know. It won't be that bad."

Draco scowled at her as she stepped back and Blaise hugged him goodbye. "I'd like to see you live with him," he hissed.

"Thank Merlin, I'll never have to," Pansy quipped, taking Blaise's hand in her own and smiling affectionately at her husband. She glanced over at the ex-Gryffindor trio. "Goodnight Hermione, Weasley, Harry. We'll see you."

After the others had farewelled them, Pansy and Blaise waved goodbye one more time to Draco and then Disapparated from the apartment.

Hermione smiled tentatively at Draco. "Goodnight, Dr-Malfoy. It's good to see you out of the hospital, really."

Ron didn't say anything, but shot Draco a look that seemed to indicate his acquiescence to his girlfriend's words.

Draco merely waved a hand in farewell, still looking somewhat annoyed. With their own final reassuring glance to Harry, Ron and Hermione Disapparated, leaving Harry and Draco alone in the apartment.

There was a brief silence as Harry and Draco determinedly looked anywhere but each other. "I better go start the washing up," Harry mumbled to the bookcase, and abruptly turned on his heel and exited the lounge room.

Relieved to be alone, Draco sank into the nearest chair, feeling overwhelmed all of a sudden. He'd had an inkling that he would've changed sides, if he and Potter were friends and living together and everything. Potter would hardly befriend a Death Eater. But the knowledge was still a lot to take in. Draco realised he probably should've pressed Granger a bit further on what Voldemort had done to hurt his family so much. He for one couldn't imagine what it would've taken for him to change his allegiance and views so completely.

He was, he supposed, grateful to have a roof over his head that wasn't the hospital. He'd spent more than enough time there. It was just so frustrating, knowing as he did that there was nearly four years of memory that he was missing. Four years! It was unfathomable. He was now nineteen years old, but he felt like he was fifteen.

A thought occurred to him. What was he meant to do with himself now? While the self he couldn't remember had gone through Hogwarts and got his OWLs and NEWTs, he had no memory of any of the things he would've learned during sixth year or seventh year, no inkling of what his job was now...

Getting up, Draco strode from the lounge room, heading for the kitchen. Harry was there behind the kitchen counter, energetically scrubbing the base of a dirty pan, his sleeves rolled up over his elbows, exposing lean, tanned forearms and large hands. Draco watched Potter straining for a moment, and then shook himself.

"Potter," he said loudly. Potter glanced up, the bright emerald shade of his eyes seeming very pronounced all of a sudden against the tan colour of his skin. He looked tired, and weary. "What is it, Dr-Malfoy?"

"What do you people expect me to do all day?" Draco demanded.

Potter blinked slowly, as though Draco's very justified question was taking a long time to process through his brain. "I'm sorry?"

"Do, Potter, what am I meant to do?" Draco repeated irritably. "I assume I must've had a job of some description?"

Potter blinked again. "Oh," he said, his eyes flicking back down to the pan. He resumed scrubbing. "Well, yes. You were...a potion master, actually, but you had certain freelance...activities, on the side."

Draco raised a blonde eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Well, you were in the middle of writing a book, before your..." Potter looked back up, his expression conveying hurt and sadness. "Your accident. And you always were talking about trying your hand at fashion design after the war, but then..."

"I had my accident," Draco intoned, but he was thinking hard. "A Potions master, you say?"

"Yep." Potter ducked his head, and for some reason a faint blush spread across his cheeks. "You were excellent at it. You had some really...interesting ideas for new potions."

"I did?" Draco was captivated. "Like what?"

"Well..." Potter coughed uncomfortably, "there were some practical ones, but you were particularly good at, um...recreational ones. Ones to use in the bedroom."

Potter's face was now very red, and he seemed very reluctant to meet Draco's eyes. Draco smirked. "Like what, Potter?" he repeated. "Come now, you're an adult."

"Er..." Potter scrubbed even more furiously at the pan he was holding, "there was one in particular that was...rather good. It heightened the sensitivity of your skin to touch."

Draco was smirking even more widely now. An embarrassed Potter was very amusing. "Suppose I must've lent it to you sometimes, _friend?_" he jeered.

An expression of wistfulness and something else Draco couldn't quite identify came over Potter's face. "You could say that."

"So," Draco said, "famous Harry Potter and all that. I suppose you've got a girlfriend?"

"I'm..." Potter hesitated. "I'm with someone, yes."

Draco felt an unexpected pang of...something in his stomach at the idea of Potter and some random witch shagging.

"But it's complicated at the moment." Potter glanced up quickly, once, his gaze meeting Draco's, and then he looked back down. "Very complicated," he added.

"Ah, young love," Draco sneered sarcastically. "So these potions, did I make them here in the apartment, or what?"

With an air of composing himself, Potter set aside the pan and rolled his sleeves back down. "No. You work as Snape's assistant at his lab."

"Sev has a _lab?_" Draco said incredulously.

"Yeah, it's nearby, here in London. He left Hogwarts about a year ago and set himself up, and he offered you a job. Which you jumped at, by the way."

"Huh." Draco seemed to digest this. "Does he...I mean, does he know about..."

"I've already made sure that he knows about your accident," Potter interjected. "He made it clear that he doesn't expect you back at work for some time."

Draco looked mutinous. "Then what am I meant to _do?_" He complained. "Even if I did go to work with Sev, I don't actually know any of whatever it is I learned in sixth or seventh year."

Harry shrugged irritably. He really didn't like having to deal with this nasty, mocking, hurtful version of the boyfriend he loved. "I don't know, maybe we can hire you a tutor or something. Or I could teach you some stuff, and Hermione. Snape would probably catch you up on Potions if you asked him."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "And here I thought I could avoid school."

"Well, make up your mind!" Harry shot back, frustrated. "I'm trying to help you here, Dr-Malfoy. You'd do well to remember it sometimes."

Draco rolled his eyes and sighed. "Whatever. Thanks, Potter. I still hate you, though."

Harry nearly stumbled on the spot, a sharp and crippling pain in his heart. _He doesn't love me..._

Draco, observing this reaction, raised an eyebrow. "Jeez Potter, what's got your knickers in a twist?"

"Nothing," Harry spat through gritted teeth, mortified to feel his eyes burning with unshed tears. He emptied the sink, giving up on the idea of finishing the washing up, turning his back to Draco to dry his hands on the handtowel. He struggled to compose himself, trying to tell himself he shouldn't have been expecting anything better, but the truth still hurt. Draco didn't love him. Harry still loved Draco as much as he ever had, but now he found that love unrequited.

"I'm going to bed," Harry mumbled, and felt mortified again at how quiet and shaky his voice sounded.

"Potter?" Draco sounded, not concerned, but more curious now. "Are you..."

"I'm fine," Harry tried to snap, but it came out more as a choked whisper as he went around the kitchen counter and past Draco. Merlin, the familiar scent of his lover as he passed was like a kick to the stomach. He nearly staggered again, but managed to make it to the doorway.

"Your pyjamas are in the wardrobe on the right hand side of the bedroom," Harry said to the hallway. "The bed's got clean linen on it, so you should be fine."

"Potter..."

Harry felt himself rapidly losing it, and in an effort to stop Draco from seeing, he responded by shutting the kitchen door in Draco's face and making a beeline to the lounge room, shutting and locking that door as well. Leaning against the cold wood, facing the cold, Draco-less futon he had to sleep in, Harry remembered the warmth of his boyfriend and felt the tears finally spill over, running silently down his cheeks.

_TBC_

**AN: Ah, I hate making Harry suffer. Actually that's a lie, I love it, only because I know later how things could become very, very good for him ;)**

**So! Whatcha think? Please, please consider dropping a review, I really do appreciate each and every one.**

**Until next time,**

**bleedingxheart**


	6. The Arrest

**AN: Thanks very much to the people who reviewed!**

**You know you're dedicated to a story when you draw a floorplan of an apartment in Paint. Which, by the way, is what I decided to do of Harry and Draco's apartment, just to help myself remember where everything is and how the place is set up.**

**You can go to:_ ht tp :/ /i 676. Photobuck et .c om/alb ums/vv 121/ mid nigh tx fl y/fl oor plan .p ng_ to see it (remove the spaces) if you feel the inclination to marvel at my obsessiveness.**

**Good news: I've found out I don't go back to uni until 27****th**** July, giving me roughly 4 weeks to write as many chapters as I possibly can. Hoorah! Can't believe we're up to chapter 6 already. O.0 Whoa.**

Chapter Six: The Arrest

In the end, it was organised for Draco to refresh the senior years of his schooling in the comfort of the apartment. Hermione, when contacted by Harry, agreed to assist Draco with Ancient Runes, as she had been the only one amongst any of them who had also taken that subject. Pansy had agreed to help out with Arithmacy and Astronomy, two subjects which she and Draco had both had together.

Harry had gritted his teeth at the task that had befallen him: contacting Snape about helping Draco with Potions, Charms and Transfiguration. Despite his and Draco's relationship, his relations with the Potions Master had never improved. Snape still loathed Harry openly, and the feeling was very much so mutual. Snape remained prone to insulting Harry where possible, undermining him to Draco, making snide comments about Harry's father and overall continuing to try and make Harry's life hell whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Since Draco's accident, whilst Snape had been busy in his lab and unable to visit, he had sent a cold owl post to Harry, conveying his wish for Draco to be let off work until he was capable of returning and commenting on the incident in a way which seemed like he wanted no doubt left that he blamed Harry for letting Draco get to that point. This rankled, mostly because the dark, guilty part of Harry thought that Snape was right, that it was his fault, that he had been negligent of his boyfriend and blind to how much he was suffering and that whatever he got now from the fallout of this was well-deserved.

Harry, knowing all these feelings would come too easily to a head if he went and saw Snape in person, did the very un-Gryffindor thing and took the coward's way out, sending an owl post addressed to Snape at his lab. In it, he explained Draco's educational predicament and requested his assistance. Harry kept the tone cool and matter-of-fact, neither acknowledging any of the jibes Snape had aimed in his last missive nor indicating his own turmoil about the situation.

Most unfortunately, Harry couldn't avoid Snape forever. After dinner a few days after Draco's release from hospital, a knock sounded on the door of their apartment.

Harry was in the lounge room, idly watching the Muggle news. Draco, who still refused to have anything to do with the TV, had removed himself to the bedroom. Harry heard Draco coming down the corridor, heading towards the door, and hurriedly turned down the TV to call out, "Make sure you check who it is!"

"I _know, _Potter, I'm not an imbecile," Draco snapped. "Must you _baby _me all the bleeding time?" Muttering, he reached the door and paused before it, leaning forward to peer through the keyhole. Seeing familiar greasy black hair, he grinned widely and threw open the door, smirking at the person on the threshold.

"Took you long enough, Sev," he drawled.

Snape's black eyes swept over his godson briefly, his face betraying no emotion. "If I didn't believe Potter when he told me, I'd certainly believe him now," Snape noted coolly. "I see you are indeed behaving as though you are fifteen."

Draco's face melted into a sulky expression. Severus always made him feel like a scolded child. "Well, in my defence, sir, I..."

"You aren't fifteen, Draco," Snape said firmly. "You were better off as you were before, of course, but that is a story for another time." His dark eyes swept past Draco to the hallway beyond. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Draco didn't answer, simply waving a hand to indicate Snape should come in.

"My thanks," Snape said softly, stepping inside and looking around. "And where is your beloved Potter?"

Draco's mouth fell open in outrage. "My _beloved _Potter_?_ What are you..."

Harry came barrelling in from the lounge room at that moment, a distinct look of panic in his eyes.

"Well well, Potter," Snape addressed him, "I see you remain as stubborn and selfish as ever. Draco doesn't know about you, it seems."

"What is he talking about, Potter?" Draco demanded, but Harry ignored the blonde, glaring angrily at Snape.

"It's not selfish," he hissed. "How you could stand there and suggest such a thing...that I don't _want _to tell_..._"

Snape cut in over him. "I'm sure your reasons are as fascinating as they are weak, Potter, but we digress." He turned to Draco, who looked very angry and frustrated indeed at not understanding what the other two were talking about. "I'm here to discuss your education, Draco. Potter here has contacted me about helping you in some subjects to catch up on the senior years work you don't remember."

His confusion all but forgotten in an instant, Draco nodded, eager at the prospect. "I want to catch up. I want to remember. I want to come and work with you."

"And so you will, once I have, yet again, taught you everything I know." Snape managed to look vaguely annoyed and amused at the same time. "You were a most indispensible assistant to me, Draco. I have missed your help these past few weeks."

"Was I?" Draco looked smug. "Well, I've always loved Potions."

"Oh, please," Harry muttered.

Snape's sharp gaze flicked to Harry, his face a smirk. "I see you still fail to exhibit basic manners, Potter." He looked back to Draco. "Shall we move this discussion into the lounge room? I have a very busy schedule, especially now without my assistant, but I'm sure we could work something out."

--

Several hours later found Draco lying in bed, all the lights (he was still getting over the idea of electricity) extinguished in the apartment. Snape had left not long before, after they had negotiated an agreement. Draco was to go to Snape's lab every Tuesday, where he would spend the whole day in instruction with his godfather. Snape would then assign work, which Draco would need to complete by the following week. They would cover Potions, Transfiguration and Charms, with a particular emphasis on Potions.

The other times of study had been figured out as well, with Potter's reluctant help. Monday was his day of Ancient Runes with Granger. Wednesday was Astronomy and Arithmacy with Pansy. Thursday was a rest day, and Fridays he was meant to do Defence and duelling practise with Potter, Fridays being, apparently, the only day Harry could get off work. Weekends, thankfully, had been left as the sacred days they were.

Draco was finding it increasingly hard to remind himself that he was nineteen, not fifteen, and not actually going to school. He knew he needed to catch up on the education he couldn't remember, and felt almost relieved that he would now have a purpose from day to day. The past few days in the apartment...well, they hadn't been what one would call pleasant. Whilst Pansy and Blaise had come again to visit, Granger and Weasley had as well, and the apartment wasn't what you'd call roomy with six people inside it.

And Potter. Well, that was a whole other story. Draco wished he could figure the stupid Gryffindor out. Since the first night here, Potter had adapted a front of silence against Draco, never volunteering conversation and avoiding Draco as much as was possible in a four room apartment. Not that Draco _cared, _he didn't actually _want _to spend time with Potter, but it was just irritating. Draco craved interaction. He didn't too well left to his own devices for too long. And he absolutely could not abide being ignored. It had originated from his time as an only child, and the years at Hogwarts resenting the attention bestowed upon Potter. He didn't care what anyone said to him, as long as they didn't avoid him and ignore what he wanted to say.

Stupid Potter always knew exactly what buttons to push.

Besides which, he was beginning to wonder about Potter. As a Slytherin, he was suspicious by nature, and something wasn't totally...right about him. He knew, intellectually, that he and Potter had apparently been friends before his accident and blah blah blah. So yeah, Potter might be a bit peeved that Draco wasn't all buddy-buddy with him now. But the way Potter acted sometimes...that first night especially. Potter was a bit unhinged, he'd always believed so, but the way he'd reacted when Draco had told him that he hated him! It was like it came as a _surprise. _By the look on his face, anyone would think Draco had just pulled out a knife and stabbed him. After Potter had left the room he had wished he could chase after him and shake him by the shoulders, screaming 'what else did you expect?'

There were other things, too. Little things, like whatever the hell that had been between Snape and Potter in the hallway, or little comments that were made when the six of them were together which always seemed to end up hinting at something Draco couldn't remember.

He hated the general feeling he had of being kept in the dark since the day he'd woken up in St Mungo's. Things no one had elaborated on, or mentioned, that they probably thought he'd overlooked, but he stewed upon them, wondering. Don't even get him started on the lack of information he'd been given about what exactly had been the 'accident' that had caused the memory loss in the first place. One thing he was sure of, though: there was some secret to do with Potter they didn't want him to know.

There was one other thing. Whenever they were in the same room, at meals sometimes, or in the lounge room, Draco would look up from whatever he was doing and find Potter staring at him. Avidly. It was very disconcerting, finding those brilliant green eyes fixed upon oneself. If there was one redeeming physical feature of Potter, it was those eyes. Draco envied Potter them, he always had. When he was younger it had seemed the greatest injustice that Potter had been given such exotic, jewel-like eyes while Draco's were plain grey, but he comforted himself with the thought that they were marred by those hideous glasses.

Not anymore. Potter still wore glasses, but he'd gotten new ones, thinner frames, shaped to compliment the bright colour and almond shape of his eyes, drawing ones gaze to them rather than to the famous scar. So it was that Draco would look up, and there they were, Potter's eyes, staring at him. The emotions in those eyes were endless every time, highlighted by the expression on Potter's face. Draco could read a myriad every time. Hurt. Confusion. Contemplation. The most disturbing element, though, was something he could only classify as longing, the look Pansy would give a particularly elusive and beautiful piece of jewellery.

It was that, more than anything else, which Draco was struggling to decipher. Well, Draco reflected, today was Thursday. The next day, he would start a lesson with Potter. Tomorrow would only (hopefully) make the mystery clearer. With that thought, Draco settled down to sleep.

--

_**Friday 19**__**th**__** June 2000**_

Potter, it had turned out, was as handy as a house elf when it came to domestic matters. Since Draco was released from hospital, Potter had cooked every single meal and done all the cleaning and grocery shopping. Some part of Draco felt vaguely guilty about that, but it was quickly overridden by an upbringing in which every service had been performed for him by others.

The day of the first Defense session, Potter served up breakfast as usual. Rather disconcertingly, from day one Potter had provided Draco's preferred breakfast of toast, margarine and raspberry jam, cooked exactly the way he liked. When questioned on this, his nonchalant response had been 'I just know.'

Draco was now past the point where he found this disturbing, simply mildly thanking Potter and digging in.

After breakfast was finished, Potter cleared the table and distributed everything into the dishwasher (which, by the way, Draco had to admit was one of the better Muggle things he'd heard of) before leaning against the kitchen bench, giving him one of _those _avid stares again.

"I thought the lounge room would be the best place to practise," he said.

Draco waved a hand, unconcerned. "Whatever, Potter. Let's just get it over with already."

Potter was quiet for a moment before he straightened. "Alright. I've prepared the room. Whenever you're ready."

He walked out past Draco into the hall, leaving Draco alone at the dining table.

Draco exhaled slowly. Now it came down to it, he felt nervous about this. It was _Potter,_ but that meant something different now. Potter had, by all accounts, faced down the Dark Lord one on one in a duel and killed him. Loath as he was to admit it, Potter wasn't the attention-seeking, talentless prick his memory provided. Potter was making his living doing what he was about to teach Draco.

Steeling himself, Draco got up and followed Potter's steps into the lounge room.

Preparing the lounge room seemed to have involved pushing the furniture to the sides of the room, leaving empty space in the middle. Potter was facing the bookshelf, his attention absorbed by something Draco couldn't see. Draco cleared his throat awkwardly.

Potter turned around, looking resigned. "Okay. So last night I did some thinking about how to go about this. When we..." he paused, "...when we first became friends, the way we got to know each other better was me helping you with duelling and Defense practise. It worked the first time around, so I thought we could just apply the same lessons again."

And there it was again. Draco knew he and Potter had been very close friends before he lost his memory. That was fine. But that didn't mean this time around he had to end up very close friends with Potter again, did it? And yet here he was, living with Potter, spending time with Potter, practicing with Potter, which apparently had helped make them close originally...

The childish, fifteen-year old part of Draco who hated Potter registered this and wanted to run from the room. But there was another part of him that had emerged since he'd been in St Mungo's, that grew more dominant with each new piece of information about who he used to be. Curiosity killed the Slytherin, apparently. He _wanted _to know. He _wanted _to experience just a bit of what that other Draco had experienced. Maybe not everything. But...

It was that part of him that made him steel himself and step further into the room. "Sounds good, Potter," he drawled. "What are we starting with?"

--

Potter, Draco would admit to himself later, was a fantastic teacher. He was patient, he was dedicated, and every word he said in instruction made it obvious that he knew what he was talking about, and was passionate about it to boot.

The week of tutelage that followed was...interesting, to say the least. Granger came over on Monday, armed with piles of books and folders of her notes from Ancient Runes in fifth year that she had actually kept ever since. Granger's teaching method was methodological and ruthless. In the several hours they worked, Draco felt his brain power tested in a way he hadn't experienced for a while.

On Tuesday, Draco got to go to the lab where he'd apparently been working as Snape's assistant for his Potions, Transfiguration and Charms tutoring. The lab was, not surprisingly, located underground, accessed by a hidden entrance down an anonymous side alley of London not far from his and Potter's apartment. Snape was the same as ever, matter of fact and blunt with very high expectations of performance. Happily, just as Draco had always flourished under the teaching of the Potions Master at school, his learning experience with Snape was no different this time. They undertook a whirlwind of lessons that lasted all day, and Draco was given homework to complete before he came back the next Tuesday.

On Wednesday, Pansy came over to handle Arithmacy and Astronomy. Granted they didn't get as much work done as he had with his other tutors, given Pansy's tendency to gossip, but he found her adequate enough in explaining the intricacies of her subjects. Although it was slightly annoying when she took her role too far and began lecturing him to sit up straight and pay attention.

The following Thursday, the 25th June, found Draco with a day off. Happily, he slept in, and when he emerged into the kitchen he found Potter hurriedly rushing around dressed in formal-looking robes, the robes of an Auror.

He blinked. "What are you doing, Potter?"

"Trying to get your breakfast ready. I'm very late, I shouldn't have sat here like a chump waiting for you to wake up before I went, I don't know why this matters so much but no, stupid Harry, just had to sit around and wait for Draco to get up instead of doing the logical thing and waking you up..."

Potter continued to rant in this vein as he frantically retrieved toast from the toaster and began spreading it with margarine.

Draco watched, bewildered. "No, I mean, where are you going?"

Potter gave Draco a blank look. "To work."

"Oh." Draco tried to recall Potter ever mentioning this, but drew a blank. "I didn't know you were going back to work. I thought the Ministry gave you time off."

"Yeah, well, I asked for time back on," Harry muttered, now unscrewing the lid of the raspberry jam. "My supervisor was happy to oblige me."

"Right." Draco tried to process this. "But I overheard you say to Granger that you would stay here with me until I was ready to..."

Potter was now searching through the cupboard for a plate. His voice sounded, muffled, from within it. "Well, maybe I've been finding that a little bit harder than I expected, and maybe I need a break."

Draco exhaled in frustration. "Potter, if there's something you're trying to say to me, could you just say it already?"

Potter emerged, quickly plating the toast and setting it on the bench. He bowed his head, his hands grasping the edges of the bench. Draco watched the knuckles turn white and recognised the gesture from their school days. Potter was trying to control himself. And if there had ever been someone who was good at breaking that control, Draco knew it was him.

"Potter," he persisted. "Obviously you're pissed at me, so have at it, would you? Potter! Don't ignore me! What's your problem with me that it would make you scamper off to work to get away from me?"

Potter's head snapped up, and his eyes were like green fire. "That's just it," he yelled. "I don't _want _to get away from you but the way you are means I _have _to so I don't go completely insane! I _miss_ you Draco, and it's so hard to live with who you are now because I remember who you were and you're DRIVING ME CRAZY!"

Silence fell. Potter's chest was heaving from his outburst, and he wouldn't meet Draco's gaze.

"You _miss _me?" Draco repeated confusedly.

Potter shook his head, still looking away.

Draco felt himself getting angry right back. "You know, it's not my fault that I've lost my memory of whatever wonderful friendship we shared before! It's not my fault that I am who I am now! I can't just magically become the Draco that you remember, so just don't...don't apply your stupid expectations to me! This isn't my fault!"

Potter looked somewhat crazed as he rounded the bench and advanced towards Draco, all thoughts of work seemingly forgotten for the moment. Draco began backing away, but Potter kept advancing. "It WAS your fault!" he yelled. "It WAS, because you took the coward's way out and everything went wrong and this never would have happened if you had just _told _me how it was affecting you! And I hate you, I hate you for becoming the person I thought I'd never have to deal with again, the Draco I hated so much! We went through so much together and now it's like it never happened and I'm the one who remembers what we were and it hurts _so much _that you don't!"

They had ended up with Draco against the wall near the kitchen door, Potter with his hands on Draco's shoulders, squeezing hard as he shouted.

"How what was affecting me?" Draco shouted back. "What coward's way out? No one has actually deigned to _tell me _what exactly made me lose my memory in the first place, so I don't know what you're talking about! And for Merlin's sake, Potter, get a grip, we were just _friends,_ you big drama queen, stop pretending like me not wanting to be best friends with you anymore is killing you inside!"

"It _is,_ and we were more than..." Potter began angrily, but then he seemed to stop himself, taking a deep breath. "Okay. Look. I'm very late for work already, and it's clear we have some things to work out, so can we please just talk about this when I get home? I can't deal with this right now."

Draco, ridiculously, felt like crying. He felt his face heat and his eyes burn. "Fine! Run away from my questions, avoid telling me the truth like always, Potter! That's fine! I'm apparently too much for your poor sensitivities, so just go, save yourself!"

Potter's expression was anguished as he stared into Draco's eyes. And then, he did the most unexpected thing. He brought a tanned hand up and stroked his fingertips slowly across Draco's right hand cheek, and where his touch had been, Draco's skin burned.

"I'll see you later," he mumbled, and then in a blink he had brushed past Draco, was out of the kitchen and out of the corridor, shutting the front door firmly behind him.

Breathing hard, Draco sunk to the floor, staring blankly at the opposite wall and trying very hard to process what had just happened.

--

It was thinking about Narcissa Malfoy that had set off Hermione's brainwave, she would reflect later. This particular Thursday, she was in the Ministry library, in her usual capacity as a Researcher, methodologically looking for resources for some official of the Department of Sports, and thinking about what it would be like, to be tortured for so long that you lost your mind. What it would be like, to be imprisoned behind that insanity. Would you still feel like the same person inside? Did Narcissa Malfoy realise that she would spend the rest of her life in that ward of the fourth floor?

Her train of thought jumped around as she scanned shelves, wrote down book numbers, flipped pages and copied down passages. Narcissa Malfoy wasn't alone in that ward, it was true. There were people coming in and out of that permanent spell damage ward all the time, some who were cured, some who weren't. She thought back to that time she had gone with Harry and Draco to visit Narcissa, how Draco had insisted on going in alone, not wanting Harry to see his mother in the state she was in. Hermione remembered seeing Lockhart there as well, her poor former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, who was contained in the ward after he tried to use Ron's damaged wand and suffered partial but severe memory loss...

And _snap, _there it was, a connection she hadn't thought about before, a possibility she was suddenly sure about, and suddenly there was nothing more important than finding Harry and telling him what she had realised. Hermione hurriedly checked her watch, remembering that today was the day Harry had said he was meant to start going back to work. One o' clock. He should be here by now, probably in his office. Rushing, Hermione dashed around the library, putting the books she had back and making a beeline for the exit, determined to find her best friend.

--

Harry was, in fact, in his office upstairs in the Auror department, staring blankly at the wall and going over the earlier confrontation with Draco in his head for the millionth time. Had he said...no, surely not...and had he actually _stroked _Draco's cheek?

Harry groaned, putting his head in his hands. He didn't know exactly what the conversation that awaited him tonight would pertain, but he knew one thing for sure: Draco would be majorly pissed at him. Draco would be demanding answers, and Harry simply didn't know anymore if he could bear to go on keeping everything from the blonde, he hated lying to Draco, he wanted him to know everything, to be able to explain what had happened with Lucius and Animus and hold Draco and cry with him over lost opportunities, the big hurts, try and heal his wounds and make things just a little better and kiss the pain away. Harry groaned aloud. Merlin, how he wanted to kiss Draco. He had come very close to it in the kitchen, when he felt fury and sexual frustration and desperation building inside him and he had wanted to either hit Draco or kiss him or just _something, _anything other than the distance that was there between them now.

He looked up, startled from his thoughts as Hermione burst in to the room suddenly, her hair a mess and her cheeks flushed from exertion. "Harry," she panted. "I think I know why the spell Lucia Hevelle used backfired on Draco."

--

_To Augustus Ridgeworth,_

_I know you have taken responsibility for the case against Animus and Lucia Hevelle to determine the cause for the brain damage suffered by my partner Draco Malfoy. I have information that I think might be able to help you reach a conclusion and gather evidence against those who have injured Draco. Trusting, of course, that you have the sense to be secretive, I want to make sure first that you know Draco's exact state following the incident. As a result of the Animus memory erasure spell, Draco has suffered brain damage which has caused severe partial, but permanent, memory loss. Draco currently cannot remember any details of his life past the first months of his fifth year at Hogwarts. He does not remember the torture of his mother into insanity, nor my relationship with him, or any details about the lead up to the war, and he certainly doesn't remember going to Animus in the first place, or the reasons for his doing so. I repeat again that I trust your secretiveness with these details. The press continues to speculate what effect the Animus incident has had on Draco's health and I would infinitely prefer it if they didn't know, at least not yet._

_The reason why I tell you this is that I have a suggestion to you as to why the spell Lucia Hevelle cast on Draco went so terribly wrong. I don't know if you're familiar with the case of Gilderoy Lockhart? When I was in my second year, he tried to cast Obliviate on me and my friend Ron Weasley using Ron's wand, which was severely damaged at the time. The wand malfunctioned, causing the spell to likewise malfunction and backfire on Lockhart, who suffered severe partial memory loss, permanently, as a result. I think this is a strong possibility for explaining why the spell didn't work on Draco when Lucia Hevelle cast it. I'd suggest looking into the state of the wand that was used by Lucia on Draco – if it was damaged, it might explain what has happened to Draco. _

_Thank you for your work towards finding a conclusion for Draco's condition. I appreciate it, and I really hope the information I've provided might help you._

_Sincerely,  
Harry Potter_

--

_**Friday 26**__**th**__** June 2000**_

Augustus Ridgeworth flexed his fingers as he walked slowly around the Interrogation Room. Lucia was seated before a great table, looking considerably thinner and more wearied since the last time he had seen her. On his orders, she had been brought before him for further questioning in light of the new evidence, although of course Lucia didn't know anything about that new evidence. It was with this Ridgeworth hoped to trap her.

"How many people were working at the establishment of Animus, Miss Hevelle?" he asked suddenly.

Lucia blinked. "I believe there were two other Specialists employed there, as well as our Welcome Witch."

"I see. Can you describe for me the standard procedure for the running of the establishment? Forgive me, I never would have deigned to step foot there otherwise, so I'm a little short on information."

Lucia looked coldly at Ridgeworth, angry at his snide attack on her place of work. "Clients make bookings for consultations. Once they arrive for their appointment, our Welcome Witch notifies the Head Specialist assigned to the client of their arrival. We ourselves come out to welcome the client and usher them to a consultation room. The client must fill out forms, answer extensive questions, give statements, and sign a liability form stating that they understand the risk they are taking by using our services. Then it is simply a matter of the memory erasure procedure, and finally payment."

Ridegworth sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "So in the course of an average day, do your so called Specialists come into much contact with one another?"

Lucia gave him a strange look. "No, because there is only one Specialist working at any given time. We do a steady business, but not a popular one, and clientele demand dictates that only one Specialist is needed to be on duty."

"But this Welcome Witch, as you call her..." Ridgeworth leaned over the table to consult his notes, "a Miss Evelyn Greenswaggle, surely you come into frequent contact with her during the day?"

"As a rule, our Welcome Witch must remain at the reception counter for the duration of business hours. She must always be prepared to welcome the clientele. Specialists, when not in consultation with a client, remain in our offices, catching up on paperwork and so forth. Our only interactions with Evelyn would be when she informs us that a client is waiting."

Ridgeworth nodded slowly. "I see. So the Specialists employed at Animus, you all have your own offices?"

"Yes, we all maintain our own workspaces."

"Would anyone other than yourself be able to access your office?"

Lucia shook her head firmly. "No, of course not. We utilise the very latest security devices to ensure that no one other than ourselves can get into our offices when we aren't there. It's a measure to ensure customer privacy, to protect the highly sensitive information they trust us with. There is no one who can enter my office or touch any of the things within other than myself."

Ridgeworth was silent. Lucia fidgeted, feeling very anxious. "Forgive me, but can I ask the purpose of these questions?"

"Just clearing up a few things," Ridgeworth murmured, turning his dark gaze to her. "So by your own account, no other person could possibly access your belongings or any other contents of your office other than yourself, is that correct, Miss Hevelle?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"Well then, it is my obligation now to show you this." From the folds of his robes he produced a wand, which Lucia recognised at once as her own. "My wand!" she said with relief. They had taken it from her when she was put in custody, and had had the feeling since that she was missing her right arm.

"Yes, eleven inches, oak, dragon heartstring, quite bendy, correct?" Ridgeworth said, eyeing her closely.

Lucia nodded. "Yes, that's my wand."

Ridgeworth twirled it in his fingers, and then pointed it at the stack of papers on the desk. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Nothing happened. The paper didn't move.

"Curious," Ridgeworth said mildly. "Interestingly, Miss Hevelle, your wand has been unable to perform the slightest bit of magic since it was confiscated from you. Strange, when this is the very wand that put Draco Malfoy in St Mungo's, is it not? Naturally, I thought it warranted some examination. I sent it to our wand experts here at the Ministry, and the results they sent me were _very _interesting."

Lucia was watching Ridgeworth, her expression one of foreboding and mild horror.

"According to them, the finest experts on wands in Britain, this wand is virtually useless. It bears signs of having been tampered with, the very core of the wand that holds its power altered irreversibly so that any spell it performs will malfunction." He looked straight at Lucia, a glimmer of triumph in his eyes. "My fine team of experts date the initial tampering of the wand at May 31st this year. Now of course, the damage has rendered the wand's magic virtually non-existent now, but they assure me that the day after the damage was done to the wand, it would still have been capable of performing spells, although any spell used with it was guaranteed to malfunction." He paused to let that sink in, and then leaned in close to Lucia. "They expressed their astonishment that Draco Malfoy escaped from his encounter with you with his life. The highly risky spell you were using, according to them, combined with the damaged state of your wand had a 99% chance of killing Draco Malfoy. Most fortunately for him, he did defy the odds and escape with his life. Most unfortunately for you, I've done a little investigating. Draco Malfoy was the only client you had that day, was he not?"

"No, it's not true!" Lucia cried, already seeing where Ridgeworth was going with this.

"Animus records show that Draco Malfoy booked his appointment one week before he came in. Plenty of time to plan, plenty of time to get yourself organised, to figure out how you were to do it, how you would attempt to murder him."

"No!" Lucia screamed.

"No other Animus client has suffered damage quite like Draco Malfoy did. Injuries, yes, but none recorded permanent brain damage, certainly not memory loss to the extent he has recorded. You deliberately used a malfunctioning wand in the full knowledge that doing so had a nearly guaranteed chance of fatally injuring him, virtually ensuring his murder."

Lucia was nearly hysterical now. "No, Ridgeworth, you've got it all wrong! I swear to you, I had no idea there was anything wrong with my wand! I don't know how my wand got damaged, but I swear that I didn't do it!"

"All the evidence is there," Ridgeworth said grimly. "At 7:00pm May 31st, a full hour after Evelyn Greenswaggle's recorded time of departure, your office was accessed by someone who, by your own admission, could only be you. Most unfortunately, security camera recordings for that day were found to be completely destroyed. You waited until Evelyn was gone, went into your office and tampered with your wand, knowing that at 2 o' clock the next afternoon your only client for the day, Draco Malfoy, would enter into consultation with you."

Lucia sobbed, rocking back and forth, frantically gabbling nonsense words. Ridgeworth moved quickly, conjuring a set of cuffs from nowhere and moving forward to seal her wrists within them.

"Lucia Hevelle, I hereby place you under arrest for the attempted murder of Mr Draco Malfoy. You will be detained to a higher security cell within the Ministry underground chambers, awaiting trial by the Wizengamot for the charges laid against you. The date and time of your trial will be decided later by Ministry officials, and you will be informed of their decision in due course. You have the right to remain silent, as anything you say or do now can and will be used against you by the Wizengamot."

A second Ministry official came into the room, tasked with taking Lucia to her new prison. Lucia continued to wail, begging Ridgeworth to believe her, insisting that she was innocent. The other official chanced a quick glance at his Head of Department, wondering if he would see any sign of regret or pity in Ridegworth's eyes.

There wasn't any.

_TBC_

**AN: Whoa. That was a long chapter. Would love, as always, to receive any and all feedback you guys have on the story, especially with what's just happened. Oh noes! Harry and Draco are fighting! Will they ever get along? Or, more relevant to what we want, get it on? Who knows.**

**Until next time,**

**bleedingxheart**


	7. The Revelations

**AN: Thanks to the people who reviewed!**

**Well, sorry for not updating in a while. I've had some upheaval, in the form of me deciding to take leave from uni this semester to figure out what I want to do coz my course kind of sucked. So. The good news from that is, there are many months before us in which I will be free to write, having no uni to attend. Yay!**

Chapter Seven: The Revelations

**_The Weekend Prophet, Saturday 27thJune 2000_**

_ANIMUS SPECIALIST ARRESTED OVER MALFOY INCIDENT, ANIMUS CLOSES ITS DOORS_

_Animus Head Specialist Lucia Hevelle was arrested last night charged with the attempted murder of Animus client Draco Malfoy, 19. The move, while not totally unexpected, has still come as a shock to the wizarding population following the alleged incident twenty six days ago. As those who have followed the details of the drama already know, Mr Malfoy was rushed to St Mungo's Hospital with severe head injuries on 1st June following an appointment with the memory erasure business._

_ What evidence exists for the arrest of Miss Hevelle, as well as a motive, is not known, although Augustus Ridegworth, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, said the following in a statement issued last night: 'The Department is wholly satisfied in the necessity of the arrest of Miss Hevelle. Our ongoing investigation has produced for us evidence that the unfortunate accident involving Mr Malfoy was not just an accident but actually an attempt at murder on behalf of Miss Hevelle. We are well aware of public outrage over this business and we have strived to administer justice where it is necessary. Miss Hevelle has been removed to Azkaban to await the setting of a date for her trial, and as Head of Department I wish to assure the wizarding public that every angle of investigation has been and will continue to be employed by our agents. '_

_In a further shocking development following Miss Hevelle's arrest, the founder and owner of Animus Enterprises, Mr Evander Mauvais, 40, has come forward in response to outcries against his business following Mr Malfoy's near fatal appointment. Having been inundated with bad press following the incident, Evander had the following to say: 'I wish to extend my sincere and respectful apology to Draco Malfoy for what he has suffered, and would further like to take this opportunity to announce the closure of the Animus establishments on an indefinite basis whilst company policy and procedures undergo critical review.' Mr Mauvais refused to give credit to opinion that his business is morally flawed, insisting that Miss Hevelle's attempted murder of a client is separate to the business' everyday function and expressing concern for Miss Hevelle's 'sanity and frame of mind to have commited such an atrocity.'_

_Many activists are jubilant following the indefinite closure of Animus and Miss Hevelle's arrest, deeming it justice for the immoral doings undertaken by the business and for the injuries, the exact extent of which are still unknown, done to Draco Malfoy._

--

Harry fumbled in the pocket of his jeans, struggling to find the keys to the front door of the apartment with his arms full of groceries. He was, on one level, relieved it was the weekend and on another, he dreaded the thought. Since their blow up the week before, relations between him and Draco had been icy at best. Resentful of Harry's secrecy, furious at Harry's admission that he _missed _him, Draco had been putting up a front of cold silence all week towards Harry, seemingly so infuriated that he wouldn't deign to speak to Harry unless absolutely necessary. As a result, Harry was in some kind of hell, wanting to scream and shout and shake Draco and slap him and kiss him and fuck him...oh god, _anything _but this cold war they had entered.

He'd come home from work last Friday fired up with the knowledge of the wand tampering, ready to go in all guns blazing against the assault he was expecting from the blonde, but...nothing. Draco seemed determined to pretend the emotional exchange between them had never happened, instead grittily digging in to his studying and refusing to talk. And so it had been since. All that week, Harry had in turn thrown himself into his work, leaving earlier, coming back later in an effort to avoid home. By yesterday, he'd been exhausted. Thus, he was relieved for the weekend, but dreading the prospect of two days stuck with the icy cold blonde.

Finally locating the keys in his pocket, Harry struggled to line up the key with the lock. While the building they lived in did have a significant amount of wizards, it was on the whole a Muggle establishment, and thus necessary for its wizarding occupants to keep up appearances and not use Alohomora on their locked doors. It took some manoeuvring but finally Harry managed it, using his shoulder to push open the door and step into the entryway.

Harry shut the door behind him and paused, brow furrowed. It was silent in the apartment. Draco always played music while he was studying, and the apartment being the size it was, Harry could usually hear that music from whatever room he was in. Nothing.

_Must be sleeping in,_ Harry reasoned silently. It was late on a Saturday morning, after all. Pushing aside his unease, Harry again used his shoulder to open the kitchen door, intent on nothing more than putting his armful of groceries away.

Instead, he was met by the assault he'd been expecting a little over a week before.

Draco was sitting at the dining table, facing the door. In his hands was a copy of today's Weekend Prophet, and in his eyes burned silver fury.

"Potter," he hissed.

Harry focused on the headline screaming across the front page, reading it once. Then again. And again, with a wince. _Oh, crap._

"Dr-Malfoy?" He ventured cautiously, still frozen to the spot.

Draco took in the multitude of bags in Harry's arms, and his eyes narrowed. "Why don't you put those down, Potter, and then come and sit down so we can have a chat?" he suggested in a mock-sweet tone.

_Oh, double crap. _Harry knew that tone very well. Draco only used it when he was truly, royally pissed. Swallowing, Harry did as suggested, moving slowly to put the groceries on the kitchen bench. Mind racing, he took a seat opposite Draco, who had put the newspaper onto the table. He pushed it towards Harry.

"Read it," he commanded icily.

Harry hastened to do so, bending over the article and reading it quickly, his heart sinking with every word. When he was finished, he slowly raised his head to meet Draco's incensed stare.

"Just how long did you all think to hide this from me?" Draco said softly, his eyes boring into Harry's. "Hiding me away in our – your – apartment, Potter, away from the media? Away from the public outrage over my," he sneered in the direction of the newspaper, "My incident? Did it not occur to you that I would have infinitely preferred to find this out directly from you rather than the BLEEDING FRONT PAGE OF THE WEEKEND PROPHET?!"

Harry winced as Draco's voice rose to a scream, and hastened to try and fix the damage done. "We...I, meant to tell you," he said pleadingly. "Of course. I know Blaise and Pansy told you the day after, in the hospital, that you'd had a...an accident. In everything that followed, we just...I just...screwed up," he finished humbly. "I'm sorry. You're right, of course you're right, you shouldn't have found out this way...I should've told you sooner."

Draco blinked, momentarily taken aback by the calm, defeated apology, but then felt himself grow angry again. He wanted Potter to beg, to plead forgiveness, to _grovel _for it. He chose a new angle.

"Attempted murder?" Draco hissed. "You people tell me I had an accident, like I might've slipped and bumped my head, and in reality I'm like this because some bitch tried to kill me? That I should know that hasn't occurred to you these last few weeks?"

"We didn't know it was an attempted murder," Harry defended himself. "Honestly we didn't, Draco. When it happened everyone believed it _was _an accident, no one could tell me why everything had gone wrong, why you were injured..." his voice shook just from the memory. "Lucia..." His voice tinged with distinct hatred, "insisted it was an accident, she...she was taken into custody, just in case, for questioning, but...no one really suspected...until Hermione..."

"What?" Draco said sharply. "What about Granger? What has she got to do with this?" His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forwards suddenly to seize Harry's wrists, holding them in a vice-like grip as he glared into Harry's eyes. "You, Potter. Are telling me everything about this _Animus, _everything you know about what happened that day I lost my memories. Right now. You understand me?"

Harry drew in a shaky breath. His skin, where Draco touched him, was burning, his body shaky with need for more contact. It has been _so long..._

"Yes," Harry managed finally. "I swear."

"Right." Abruptly Draco released him and leant back, folding his arms and assuming the air of waiting.

"Okay." Harry cleared his throat and wondered how much to tell him. It seemed futile to keep anything about Animus from Draco, now he'd read that article. But maybe as for his suspicions on why Draco went in the first place...he himself was still unsure about that, exactly what memory his boyfriend had wanted erased from his head. But the rest of it Draco would find out anyway.

"Animus is basically one of a bunch of businesses which cropped up after the War ended several months ago," Harry began slowly. "A lot of people suffered psychological and emotional trauma after...everything was said and done. There were some people who were so desperate to get rid of the memories they had that their need went beyond the mere use of a Pensieve. They didn't just want the memory removed, put aside, they wanted the memories eradicated, destroyed, erased beyond existence." Harry studied his hands and continued quietly, "There are some in the wizarding community, myself included, who hate Animus and businesses like them and what they do."

Draco's eyes were still narrowed. "Why?"

Harry sucked in a breath. "Because I believe that it's the coward's way out," he said flatly. "Everyone has things they'd rather forget, memories they wish they could erase, but in the end it doesn't solve any of the bigger issues. It's just putting off the pain, delaying it, rather than meeting it head on and just _dealing _with it."

Draco blinked, surprised by the small, hard anger in Harry's words, the conviction, even...resentment? Ah. It clicked. Resentment towards the Draco Harry had known, his friend, who took the coward's way out, nearly got himself killed and left Harry with a friend who'd become his arch rival all over again. Draco felt fury boiling in his stomach. There Potter went again, pinning the blame on Draco for something pre-accident Draco had done, had been, had said.

"I went to them, didn't I?" Draco said loudly. "That day. Why did I go?"

"I don't know," Harry said, his voice suddenly soft again. His gaze shifted away, to the wall space over Draco's right hand shoulder. "I don't know why you went, exactly. You became a whole different person after the war, you..." his voice shuddered, "you shut me out. I didn't know you were in so much pain. If I'd have _known..._"

His words hung in the air, an unspoken promise. He would've comforted Draco, would've helped him, would've stayed up all night and day to help him through it, would've suffered along with him willingly. Would've, could've, should've.

Draco swallowed around a suddenly thick throat, absurdly feeling almost jealous of pre-accident Draco, who so obviously had had the willing care and attention of Potter, who was so remote and bitter around him now.

"But you didn't," Draco said brutally. "I went, and instead of having whatever memory it was erased safely, I was nearly killed."

Harry was wringing his hands in a way reminiscent of the action of washing his hands, over and over. "It didn't make any sense why the spell backfired so badly when she used it on you," he said distantly. "They do sometimes have accidents, I think, but nothing so bad has ever happened to anyone else who'd seen them. Hermione figured it out. It was Gilderoy Lockhart that made her realise."

Draco frowned. "That twat who was our second-year Defense teacher?"

"Yeah, him. He was with me and Ron in the Chamber of Secrets." Ignoring Draco's wide eyes, Harry plunged on. "He tried to use Obliviate on us, but it was with Ron's wand, which was really badly damaged at the time. It backfired on him, and he suffered what you've got – severe partial, but permanent, memory loss. She came running to tell me, and it makes sense. Why else would only your procedure have gone so wrong? I wrote to Ridgeworth, who's been questioning Lucia...and I guess if she's been arrested, Hermione was right." He drew in a shaky breath and let it out. "I don't know why Lucia Hevelle tried to kill you, but with a damaged wand using such a risky spell, there was a very high chance she would've succeeded."

"But I lived," Draco said faintly.

Harry smiled slightly at him, his eyes filled with emotion. "Yes, thank Merlin, you did," he said softly. "I would've killed her if she'd taken you away from me."

A strange feeling pooled in the pit of Draco's stomach, chasing away the anger. Potter had cared so much about pre-accident Draco...Draco almost felt jealous.

"In any case," Harry went on, "she's been arrested and she's in Azkaban, and she can't hurt you now."

"More than I already have been," Draco pointed out. "So. No one knows why I went to Animus in the first place. But I went, and this...Lucia Hevelle bitch tries to kill me by using a damaged wand, but instead of dying, the spell erases all my memories from fifth year onwards."

"From the first month of fifth year onwards," Harry corrected absently.

"Right." Draco brooded, staring at the pattern of wood in the dining table.

"Anything else you want to know?" Harry asked cautiously. Maybe the worst of it was over for now...

Draco was thinking hard. Something had happened to him during the War, something pre-accident Draco couldn't deal with. In a War where he'd been fighting against You-Know-Who, against his father, with Potter. All because of...

Draco frowned. He remembered the first night in their – _Potter's_, he corrected himself, - apartment. What was it Granger had said, the reason why he changed sides? That You-Know-Who had hurt his family. At the time he was so overwhelmed with everything that had happened, his brain overwrought, he didn't press the vague answer, and events in the time that had followed had pushed the matter from his mind. But now...

"Actually yes, Potter, there is something I want to know," Draco decided aloud. "A lot happened in fifth year that I don't remember. You people told me that I changed sides then, that You-Know-Who did something to my family."

Harry paled. _No, no, anything but that..._

"I want to know exactly what he did."

--

**_June 5th 1997 – Ministry of Magic, Department of Mysteries_**

Harry had never found himself so tested in his whole life. Even as he struggled in the duel he was locked in against Rodolphus Lestrange, his gut churned with dark guilt and anxiety. His fault, all his fault that so many people he loved were at risk now, duelling for their lives against Voldemort's Death Eaters. The Order had showed up only moments before, but it didn't change the fact that Harry felt almost sick at the very likely thought that he could lose someone he cared about. Hermione, Ron, Sirius, Tonks, Lupin, Ginny, Mr and Mrs Weasley and above all, _Draco..._ all here, all at risk because of his own damn surety that Sirius was in danger.

Harry ducked a Cruciatus fired at him by Lestrange and retaliated with a Stupefy. A sudden shriek caught the attention of everyone in the room.

"He's here!" Bellatrix Lestrange was screaming, distracted from her duel with Sirius, her black eyes alight with joy as they gazed upwards. Rodolphus spun around and Harry, too, followed her gaze, feeling sick, knowing there was only one person who could cause such joy in Bellatrix's eyes.

Voldemort stood on the precipice of the long and endless stairway which led down to the floor where they were duelling, the gleam in his red eyes visible even at the great distance.

"DUMBLEDORE!" A scream split the sudden pause, and Sirius seized his chance, roaring as he surged towards his cousin. "FOR THE ORDER!"

Abruptly, battle resumed broke out once more, members of the Light taking up the cry and roaring the challenge at the Death Eaters. Cries of 'Dumbledore!' and 'The Order!' rang throughout the room. Rodolphus had melted away to double-team Sirius alongside his wife, and in the confusion Harry saw the slow, deliberate progress of Voldemort as he leisurely descended the staircase, his gleaming red eyes taking in the chaos below.

"Lucius," he called suddenly in his cold, clear voice. Feet above him a darkly cloaked and blonde figure suddenly appeared, facing its master.

"You know what you must do," Voldemort continued silkily, and without a word Draco's father sped down the stairs, moving silently past the Dark Lord and onwards, deadly calm and precision in his movements.

Harry waited. He knew who the target was.

"DUMBLEDORE!" Another scream, louder than the others, cut the air. Bellatrix was screaming, not in support of the Headmaster but in fear of his presence, for Dumbledore had appeared were Lucius had just been, tall and imposing.

Hissing, Voldemort spun around, and whatever exchange occurred henceforth between the pair of them was lost on Harry, who found himself engaged in fighting against Lucius, attacking with lethal intent , descending the last steps of the staircase, his face curiously blank and almost mask-like as he assailed Harry.

And suddenly there was another scream, heart-rending and piteous. "FATHER!"

Lucius' blonde head turned in the direction of the sound, and Harry, with heart in mouth, turned too. Draco, once aware of the presence of his father, had abruptly abandoned his duel with Macnair and seemed to be oblivious to all else but the figure opposite Harry. Lupin, who was nearby, swiftly engaged Macnair and began to duel him as well as Crabbe Senior, leaving Draco, unchallenged, to focus on his father.

"How could you?" Draco cried, his beautiful face the picture of anguish, his grey eyes locked on his father. "Don't you realise what he had done to Mother?! Did you even CARE? Do you even care now that she's locked up in St Mungo's? How can you fight for him, how can you, when he TORTURED YOUR WIFE?!" Draco's voice rose into a shriek, and he flew at his father. In a daze, Harry saw Lucius mechanically raise his wand and hastily rose his own.

"Stupefy!" He cried, and the spell hit its mark, catching Lucius in the side and causing him to topple over sideways, Stunned. Harry ran to his boyfriend, who had frozen, distressed grey eyes on the figure on the ground.

"Draco," Harry said urgently, taking the blonde by the shoulders, "please, I know you're in pain but we're in danger, OK? We have to keep fighting, we have to –"

What else he was going to say was cut off by a violent explosion on the other side of the room, sending Death Eaters and Order members scattering as debris flew through the air. Mr Weasley sprinted towards them, holding his arms over his head for protection. "We have to go!" He roared to them over the sounds of the room breaking apart. "Voldemort's disappeared! This place is going to collapse! RUN!"

Not needing telling twice, Harry wrapped an arm around Draco's waist and sprinted, half-dragging the blonde along with him.

"No!" Draco choked. "FATHER!"

"He'll be fine!" Harry tried to say, but smoke and dust was rapidly filling the air, obscuring his vision and filling his lungs. Over the rumbling of brick and tar coming undone there was the cracking sounds of Disapparation as the black figures of the Death Eaters evacuated. Harry turned his head just in time to see one of the figures, crouched over that of Lucius' on the ground, disappear along with Draco's father.

Someone took hold of Harry's elbow – Sirius? Harry couldn't tell through the smoke – to help guide them to the staircase. Through the debris Harry could see Mr and Mrs Weasley hastening Ron and Ginny up the stairs, looks of terror on their faces. All of them ran as the ground began to shake, the Department of Mysteries itself seeming to be coming undone as a result of whatever the explosion had been. Harry had never run so hard in his life, but all the while he maintained a firm grip on Draco.

Finally the group emerged into the Atrium of the Ministry. Coughing, Harry cast a terrified eye around the group and felt relief, beautiful relief, swoop through him at the sight of all those he cared about intact and alive.

Dumbledore was calling out something. "Side-along apparition!" he yelled. "Take them, now!"

It had been Sirius who had grabbed his elbow before, and he now gripped Harry even tighter and then jerked away, leaving Harry clinging on, still holding Draco, with the feeling he was being forced away from the chaos of the Ministry through a very tight rubber tube.

--

**_Saturday 27th June 2000, 12pm_**

"Granger, Weasley," Draco greeted the pair coolly. He leaned back in his seat, arms folded, and scowled at Potter. Why it was so necessary for Draco to hear this information in the presence of Pansy and Blaise, let alone the Weasel and Granger, was beyond him.

Harry came into the lounge room, and his face lit up at the sight of his best friends. This only darkened Draco's mood as he watched Harry fuss over them, hugging and talking.

Greetings done, Harry glanced around at them all. Pansy and Blaise were seated on either side of Draco on the futon. Pansy was fidgeting with her wedding ring, looking highly anxious. They all knew why Harry needed them here. He'd sent out owls as soon as he could, once Draco had made it clear to him he was serious about wanting to know and he'd made it clear to Draco that it was for his own good that their friends were with them when he found out.

Harry hoped the presence of Pansy and Blaise would help Draco through this. Ron and Hermione were here, meanwhile, to help Harry through this. After all, he and Draco had still been arch rivals when Narcissa Malfoy had been tortured. Harry didn't know what to expect in terms of a reaction.

"Thanks for coming at such short notice," Harry said.

"Of course, Potter," Blaise said coolly.

Pansy inclined her head, still fidgeting with the ring.

Draco stared around at them all, all acting as though he wasn't there and felt anger rise in his chest.

"So." Harry exhaled slowly. He looked at Draco helplessly, and then at Pansy. "Should I...or do you want...?"

"You tell him, Potter." Pansy said quietly, not looking up. She shifted closer to Draco as though mere proximity would offer him comfort.

"Right." Harry turned helpless eyes to his own best friends. Hermione smiled encouragingly, if somewhat sadly, at him. She knew how much it would kill him to deliver this blow to the man who had been, only a few weeks ago, Harry's boyfriend.

"Okay." Harry ran his hands through his dark hair, giving the effect of messing it up even more than it usually was. Draco, watching him, felt irrationally maddened with the urge to control that hair, tame it, make it so that it was something that made _sense _in this crazy world he'd woken up to in St Mungo's those weeks ago.

"On...on Halloween, one month into our fifth year, Voldemort...Voldemort did a...very bad thing."

The incredulous looks not only Draco but every other occupant of the room shot Harry at this point made him hold up his hands defensively. "Okay, well _obviously _pretty much everything Voldemort did in his life was a very bad thing, but..." _Shit. _Harry closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, willing the right words to come to him.

"Your father, Dr-Malfoy, had failed Voldemort in something crucial. We don't know...I don't know what it was, but he...he did, and Voldemort...he doesn't like it when people fail to do what he wants. He...wanted to hurt your father, teach him that failure has a price. So he sent his..." it seemed insulting to say Narcissa had been tortured by a mere lackey, "...he sent a man named Wormtail to, er, provide the punishment."

Draco had been watching Harry with blank grey eyes. "What did he do to my father?" Draco asked quietly.

Pansy spoke up, unable to bear the torment of listening to Potter's stuttering. "Not your father, darling," she said softly. "Your mother."

A collective breath rippled through the room. Poor Narcissa Malfoy...

"My mother?" Wild-eyed, Draco whipped round to face his friend, then all of them in turn, ending with Harry. "What did he do to her?!" he cried.

"She was tortured." Blaise said the words no one else wanted to say. "Beaten, Crucio'd for hours, both arms and legs broken, then dumped at St Mungo's. The Healers did everything they could for her, but..."

Draco had gone deathly still, his frozen gaze locked on Harry's anguished face. Every person in the room held their breath, awaiting some kind of reaction.

A world of pain was igniting and exploding inside him, radiating to his every extremity, preventing all thought. He licked his suddenly bone-dry lips.

"Dead?" he croaked.

"Not dead." Pansy cautiously placed a comforting hand onto his shoulder. "She's still alive, but...Draco," and Pansy's voice broke, tears brimming and silently falling down her cheeks, "she was tortured into insanity. The kind you don't, you can't, come back from. She's in the care of the Healers at St Mungo's."

Absolute silence.

His mother. He pictured her golden hair, the delicate, alabaster skin so like his, the refined facial structure he'd inherited. Her smile, cold and rare and so easily shattered but so beautiful. So calm, so serene, so sure. Radiant in her nobility, her wealth, her status. Insane? A crazy invalid in a hospital?

The hospital. His overwhelmed brain whirred, clunked, sputtered and seized upon the first thought it could.

"I was..." he cleared his thick throat and tried again, "I was in that hospital for how long and not one of you thought to tell me _my mother _was down the hall?"

A collective wince.

"We decided," Harry spoke so quietly it was hard to hear him, "that telling you at that point would only hurt you." His voice faltered as he spoke. "We thought it would be way too much for you to handle, so we...we agreed to tell you later on."

Draco was still deathly still. Pansy moved to put her arm around his shoulders but he jumped back from the contact as though touch physically burned.

"Wormtail," he said dazedly, and Pansy hastened to elaborate.

"He's dead," she said quickly. "You killed him in one of the very first battles of the War. You gave that bastard everything he deserved for what he did."

"Did he scream?" Draco whispered. His grey-eyed gaze flitted around the room, searching keenly for conformation. "Did he beg, did he cry, did he _suffer_?"

Harry moved swiftly, crossing the room and kneeling before Draco, his hands on both knees. Draco didn't recoil from the touch this time, engaged by the green fire of Harry's eyes.

"I was there with you," Harry said. "He did all that and more. You avenged her." Tears filled his eyes. "She would have been so proud."

There was a beat of silence, and then Draco stood abruptly, his chest heaving, his eyes bright.

"I..." he gestured helplessly, looking around, and seeing the expressions of pity on every face, he snarled. "Just...sod off, the lot of you," he spat furiously, and strode from the room.

--

**_10:00pm_**

Harry couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned on the futon, eyes determinedly closed, inviting sleep but all he could see, all he could feel, was Draco's raw anguish.

All day, Draco had refused food, refused company. He'd locked himself into the bedroom and wouldn't come out for anyone, nor let anyone in. The others had left around dinner time, assuring Harry that if there was anything they needed, anything at all...

The silence stretched on, seeming to press in from all sides.

Urgh. To hell with it. Harry threw aside the blankets and stood. Not even really knowing what he was doing, Harry exited the lounge room and walked slowly down the dark corridor, feeling his way to the bedroom door. He stared at its dim outline. Still resolutely shut. He listened. Silence. Not expecting it to work, he reached out for the handle and tried it. Unlocked. It gave easily in his hand, obediently rotating without fuss. Hardly daring to breathe, Harry pushed forward.

The bedroom was dark, the dim glow from the moon outside filtering through the single window and creating a faint outline of its contents. Squinting, Harry could make out the bed, and spread out below the tangle of blankets was the outline of a Draco-sized lump.

Heart in throat, Harry crept forward, crept forward until he was right beside the bed, staring down at the sleeping form. Draco was always beautiful, but never more so than when he was sleeping. The white-blonde hair fanned across the pillows, the sharp dips and curves of his face seeming more pronounced as Harry's eyes adjusted to the gloom. Draco's eyelids screwed up, a desolate expression settling across his sleeping face, and Harry knew he was dreaming of his mother.

Decisively, Harry moved to lie on the bed beside Draco. There was just enough room for him. Carefully he leaned his head back onto the pillows, trying to take up the smallest possible amount of space, and turned his head slightly to watch Draco.

Draco emitted a low whimper of distress, and instinct born from years of loving this man brought Harry's hand to move to comfort, stroking gently through the silken hair and then over the pale skin of his face.

"Shhhh," he murmured, methodically stroking Draco's cheek. He began a mantra of comfort, repeated over and over again in a low hum. When Draco's forehead remained creased, Harry leaned forward and delicately kissed the creases there, soft and slow.

"Mmmm," Draco rumbled, and Harry froze, waiting for the blonde to wake up. But his forehead smoothed over and his expression cleared. Enchanted, Harry ignored the logical side of him he seemed to have left in the lounge room and leaned down, his lips finding Draco's in a gentle and loving kiss. Oh, those soft, familiar lips. He'd missed them. The moment dragged out several seconds more, and then Harry pulled away, breath baited. A slight smile twitched the corners of Draco's mouth upwards, and he sighed contentedly in his sleep. Harry felt the love he'd been restraining unleash itself in a flood of warmth, heat rushing through him and his affection for his Draco nearly overwhelming.

"Love you," he whispered into the darkness, and lay there with Draco until sleep took him.

--

Hours later, Draco awoke suddenly in that sudden rush of wakefulness that can hit in the middle of the night. Half-asleep, his brain groggy, he put it down to him still dreaming that Potter was on the bed beside him, head turned towards him, breath coming slowly and deeply.

Drifting between dreams and reality, Draco reached across to shake Potter's shoulder and wake him up.

"Potter," he mumbled groggily, continuing to shake until Potter finally awoke, slowly.

"Mmm, what is it, Draco," Potter mumbled, turning so he was on his side facing him.

"Tomorrow," Draco murmured, "I'm gonna...I wanna see my mother."

"Hmmm..." Potter sighed sleepily. "Kay. I'll go with you..."

"My...my mother..." Draco mumbled, closing his eyes. Before he once again drifted to sleep, he had the half-coherent thought that he was glad for dream-Potter, still there beside him.

_TBC_

**AN: All together now: Awwww. Could they be any cuter if they tried? **

**Well I thought it was high time to give Draco some time to suffer a bit, give Harry a break from being the target of all the angst...there's quite a few people who dislike Harry suffering out there!**

**So! What did ya think? Please consider dropping a review and letting me know how you liked the chapter.**

**I'mma put the call out here: I'm looking for a beta-reader to help me out with this story. Not just for proof-reading chapters but for helping me to shape the multitude of thoughts and ideas into those chapters. High availability and sheer awesomeness are a must. Please send me a PM if you'd be interested.**

**Until next time,**

**bleedingxheart**


	8. The Visit

**AN: Where is everybody? I think there was only one review in total for the last chapter. Not cool, my peeps. Not cool. But, silly me, I keep writing anyway.**

Chapter Eight: The Visit

_**Sunday June 28th**_

The next day, the air gradually grew muggy and thick as the morning dragged on. Outside the single window of the bedroom, the London sky was heavy with grey clouds, a blustery wind causing havoc amongst Muggle skirts and coats. Inside the apartment however, all remained still as the boys slept on.

Harry was dreaming, in that state of half-sleep where one is aware of the fact that one is dreaming.

'_Why do you look sad, Harry?' Dream-Draco asked._

'_I have to wake up soon,' Harry groaned. He turned his head to plant a kiss on that pale jaw._

'_Mmm...no,' Dream-Draco protested. 'I want you to stay here with me.'_

'_I want to,' Harry tried to insist, 'I've missed this...oh!'_

_Dream-Draco had ground his hips upwards in an attempt at convincing Harry to stay put. 'Stay,' he practically purred._

Harry shifted slightly, eyes screwed shut. He sniffed, and then his eyes snapped open, giving a low groan as he did so.

He was very much so feeling the effects from the dream. Something only exacerbated by the fact that he was spooned around Draco, his arms wrapped around him, their legs a tangle between the blankets.

Arousal pounded through his veins, his body practically shaking in need. It felt like so long since he'd held Draco like this. With a jerk, he moved his hips away from Draco's body, betting that if Draco woke up right now, he would be most displeased. Painstakingly, Harry began to work on detaching himself from the blonde. The legs took some time but he finally freed the lower portion of his body.

Now his arms. Carefully, he slowly began the attempt on withdrawing his arms from where they were cradled around Draco's torso. The left arm came free, but the right arm was pinned beneath Draco's side and immovable. Harry wanted to scream. How was he meant to do this without waking Draco?

The blonde soon solved the problem for him, rolling sideways in his sleep onto his stomach, freeing a significant amount of Harry's arm. He mumbled something incoherent as Harry withdrew the rest, breathing a sigh of relief. Now, to get out of the room without getting caught.

Achingly slow, Harry got up off the bed and crept towards the door. He was past the dresser, past the drawers...

"Mm...wha? Potter?"

Harry froze on the threshold, and slowly turned back around to face the bed. Draco had rolled again, his face turned towards Harry, brow drawn together in consternation.

"I was..." Harry cast about wildly for an excuse, "I was...just coming in to check on you."

Draco blinked great, deep grey eyes. "You..." With a groan, he tilted his head to look at the ceiling, and all at once the events of yesterday seemed to hit him. He assumed a foetal position with a low whimper.

In one movement Harry crossed back to the other side of the room, kneeling beside the bed and reaching out to him. To his surprise Draco didn't shrink back, allowing Harry to rub his back comfortingly.

"I'm so, so sorry Draco," Harry murmured. When there was no response, he continued hesitantly, "Do you want some breakfast?"

"Not hungry," came the mumbled reply.

"You should eat," Harry said firmly. He rubbed Draco's back one last time and then straightened up, leaving Draco in the bedroom.

--

By the time Draco emerged Harry had bacon and eggs frying in pans and was supervising the making of some coffee to go with it. Draco breathed in deep as he crossed the kitchen and slumped into a seat at the dining table, dazed.

Harry glanced up. He had dealt with his arousal hurriedly in the bathroom but still felt distinctly unsatisfied. The sight of Draco, blank-eyed and miserable, quickly removed all amorous thoughts though. He bustled around the kitchen, working quickly to get everything prepared.

Draco stared blankly at the wall, his brain sluggish. The emotional impact of the news yesterday had left him feeling like someone had smashed him over the head. He frowned, trying to remember...there was some hazy memory of a dream where he'd told Potter something last night...

Harry plated up the food and moved to the dining table, setting the food in front of Draco and then taking his seat opposite.

"Eat," Harry wheedled when several minutes later Draco still had not touched his food.

Draco shot him a look, but he seemed distracted. "Did...did you come into my room at all last night?" he asked eventually.

Harry nearly choked on his mouthful of coffee.

"I just have this memory..." Draco frowned. "I don't know if I dreamed it, but..." He absently poked at his bacon with a fork. "Must've dreamt it," he muttered.

_Phew._

"Yeah," Harry agreed, silently thanking whatever gods were out there that he was off the hook on _that _one.

Draco finally began at least picking at some of his food, and for several minutes there was silence and they both ate and drank.

"Potter," Draco spoke up suddenly. Harry glanced up to see a look of steely determination in those grey eyes.

"I want to..." he cleared his throat and tried again, "I want to see my mother. Today."

"Oh." Harry didn't quite know how to respond. "Well...are you sure you'd be ready for that, after yesterday? You shouldn't feel that you need to prove anything to me, or anyone else. If you need more time..."

"I don't want more time," Draco said vehemently. It suddenly seemed a matter of utmost importance that he see his mother. "I want to see her."

"Well...okay then." Even back when he'd been dealing with it the first time, to Harry's knowledge, Draco hadn't wanted to see his mother. From the time of her torture to the time of Draco's accident (near-death: Harry mentally reminded himself that it hadn't been an accident), Draco only visited his mother once, in the July after they finished school. Harry had come to St Mungo's with Draco at that time but hadn't entered the ward where Narcissa Malfoy was living out her days. Draco had wanted to be alone.

Draco's jaw was set as he looked at Harry now, and Harry knew he was serious. "Okay then," he repeated. "You can see her today." He hesitated, pushing around the egg on his plate with his fork. "Did you want me to ask Blaise and Pansy to...?"

"No," Draco cut him off. "I don't want them...I mean, I know Pansy will say she should be there with me, but...I don't want them there."

"Okay," Harry agreed cautiously. He blew out a breath and leaned back in his seat, thinking hard. "It's going to be pretty much impossible to do this without bringing some kind of media attention to ourselves."

Draco looked quizzically at him. "Why?"

A gleam of humour lit Harry's bright green eyes, and a slow, sardonic grin spread across his face. For a second, he seemed unbelievably..._Slytherin, _and Draco shivered. "You're the story of the moment, Dr-Malfoy. We have the very best privacy spells and wards on this apartment to protect us from the media, but out there," he made a grand sweeping gesture towards the door, "it's a lot different. You've been apparating directly to Snape's lab for your lessons, so you have to understand, no one has seen you in public since your release, and there's a lot of interest about your condition. The general public still don't know exactly what the attempt has done to you."

"So if you and I show up back at St Mungo's," Draco surmised, "it's going to be a media circus."

"Pretty much, yeah." Harry blinked as he realised what Draco had just said. "Wait...you want me to go with you?"

Immediately, Draco seemed to shrink away, his eyes flicking furtively to the floor. "Well, I can hardly go by myself if I'm going to be mauled by plebeians who want to know exactly what condition I'm in, can I?" he muttered, and Harry was astonished to see a deep red tinge of embarrassment seeping into his pale cheeks. Draco's gaze remained firmly on the floor as he continued. "Besides, I suppose before all this you were my...my friend, and I don't really want to go through this alone."

Affection spread through Harry's stomach and chest like wildfire, and it was all he could do not to grin like a loon at Draco's words. That Draco wanted Harry there with him this time around, with no romantic attachment between them, simply based on Draco's own understanding that he and Harry had been 'close friends,' suddenly meant everything to Harry.

"And I don't want you to go through this alone," Harry said sincerely, reaching over and lightly touching Draco's pale hand. Startled, Draco looked up and found himself caught by Harry's face, lit up with a hesitant smile and with wide green eyes shining with emotion. He felt his stomach flip and for the first time realised _why _pre-Animus Draco would've become friends with Harry in the first place. Gryffindor that he was, Harry couldn't help but exude loyalty, courage and affection towards his friends. He'd seen the relationship between Harry, Granger and Weasley, and knew now that he was jealous of that. Harry was the ideal friend when he wanted to be.

It was this thought in mind which made him say what he did next. "Thank you, Potter."

--

_**Azkaban Prison**_

Joseph Valorius prided himself on being Britain's most reputable, most successful, most famous wizarding lawyer. His clientele contained representations from the wizarding worlds sporting, political, legal and entertainment arenas, and it was well known that there was no better individual one could have to defend you. He'd taken up Lucia Hevelle's case because, being the best, he loved a challenge.

But he'd never quite anticipated that there would be this much of a challenge.

Lucia was huddled on the cold stone bench allocated to prisoners in her cell. The room contained only the barest of other necessities – a dilapidated bed, a chipped basin and a chair which seemed to be little more than a roughly hewn piece of rock. The bench Lucia occupied nearly spanned the width of the back wall. And besides all this was the thick despair and icy chill that permeated the air from the tall, dark figures of the Dementors hovering in every corridor.

Joseph shivered and pulled his thick cloak closer to himself, reflecting again on the horror of his surroundings. "Miss Hevelle," he tried again. "I'm going to need you to take Veritaserum before we begin."

Lucia gave no sign she'd heard him, her wide eyes blankly gazing at the baisin. She had taken a turn for the worse since her arrival in Azkaban two days before. Already the constant presence of the Dementors was beginning to take a toll on her mind, on her senses, her surety of her innocence.

"I don't know," she murmured suddenly. "Merlin, I don't know, I don't, why..."

Heaving an exasperated sigh, Joseph stepped towards his client, holding out the vial of Veritaserum he'd brought with him. She cringed away from him but he persisted, leaning down to meet her gaze.

"I'm your lawyer," he said clearly. "I'm here to help you. I've taken this case to help you. But first I need you to help me, Lucia."

Lucia's blank eyes flickered and then focused upon him. "Me?" she said vaguely.

"You," Joseph confirmed. He held out the vial once more. "Take the Veritaserum. I need to prepare for the trial Lucia, but first you need to take it."

Listlessly Lucia accepted the vial and took the potion, swallowing it slowly.

"Good." Satisfied, Joseph took a seat in the stone chair, whipping out some parchment and a Quick Notes Quill. "Now, testing first. What is your full name?"

"Lucia Madeleine Hevelle," Lucia murmured in the quiet, blank tone that the Truth Potion enforced upon its users.

"How old are you?"

"Thirty one."

"Your date of birth?"

"December 15th 1969."

Joseph nodded once and then prepared his quill to commence writing, assured that the potion had taken effect.

"On the evening of May 31st this year, at 7:00pm, did you access your office?"

Lucia's brow furrowed briefly before answering. "Yes, I did."

"Did you intentionally damage your wand with the full intent of using it to murder Draco Malfoy the following day?"

"I..." Lucia groaned suddenly, leaning forward and clutching at her head. "Hurts..." she whimpered.

Alert, Joseph leaned forward, eyeing his client intently. "What does?" he demanded.

"Head," Lucia mumbled. "I don't..."

"I ask you again Miss Hevelle, please, did you tamper with your wand?"

"Yes!" Lucia burst the answer out as though it had been physically ripped from her.

Joseph blinked in disbelief, feeling the beginnings of severe anxiety as to the future of the case. If she could admit it readily enough to him...

"You tampered with the wand? For the purpose of killing Draco Malfoy during his examination?"

"I..." Lucia groaned again and began slowly beating herself on the side of her head with a closed fist, teeth gritted. After several seconds of this it seemed some kind of mental battle had concluded, and she lowered her hand. "I did."

"You wanted to kill Draco Malfoy?"

"Argh!" Lucia actually screamed this time, clutching at her head. "I..." she glanced up at Joseph and all at once the glazed expression in her eyes cleared and she seemed to become almost lucid, more aware, more herself. "No, I didn't want to," she whispered.

"What was that?" Joseph asked urgently, leaning forward.

But Lucia's eyes had glazed over again, her expression blank. "I did."

Joseph made a noise of frustration. "You just said you didn't, Lucia!"

"My head..."

"I know about your bloody head!" Joseph exploded. "And you just told me you _didn't _want to kill Draco Malfoy."

Lucia's gaze had directed itself back to the baisin. "I did."

"Alright, alright then, _why _did you want him killed?"

"Draco Malfoy is a terrible man," Lucia intoned. "He deserved death."

Joseph wanted to cry, could practically _see _his case going up in smoke. "Draco Malfoy was...still is, a war hero. He defended his poor mother's honour, he fought for the Order, he killed the most feared of You-Know-Who's followers, his own father, Lucius Malfoy..."

At the mention of Malfoy Senior Lucia stood suddenly, her eyes becoming almost wild, her pretty face twisted into such an expression of fury and hatred that it seemed like someone else spoke through her. "He killed Lucius," she intoned. "He killed him."

"You wanted Draco Malfoy dead because he killed a _Death Eater? _Lucius Malfoy?" Joseph said disbelievingly.

Lucia seemed to waver for a moment, her expression shifting between raw hatred and uncertainty, before settling upon hatred. "Yes."

Joseph drew in a shaky breath. "So you willingly and knowledgeably set out to murder Draco Malfoy on June 1st of this year?"

Lucia clutched at her head once more for several seconds before answering. "Yes."

Joseph knew then there was no possible way this woman could be defended. Further questioning was pointless. Veritaserum under proper questioning had shot any possible defense to pieces. He felt himself almost hating Lucia, this bizarre, damaged woman who had tried to kill the Boy-Who-Lived's partner. Out of curiosity though, there was one more thing he wanted to know before he left the prison and withdrew his application to defend Lucia in Wizarding court.

"If you had succeeded...if you had killed Draco Malfoy...would you have regretted it?"

Lucia looked at him for a long time, her expression shifting several times, her hand twitching towards her head and back again. Finally, her eyes seemed to clear.

"Yes," she whispered.

--

_**Entrance to St Mungo's Lobby, London – 12:30pm**_

With a resonating crack, Harry and Draco appeared in the dank depths of an alleyway close by to the shop front which disguised the wizarding hospital. Harry glanced over at the blonde, who was dusting himself off and looking around with an expression of deep disgust at the dumpbins and trash around them.

"Remind me to ask Severus to teach me how to Apparate," Draco drawled, stepping delicately over a discarded burger wrapper on the ground. "It really is very demoralising having to rely on you to get me places, Potter."

Harry merely smiled somewhat sadly as he followed Draco out of the alleyway. He knew very well that Draco was applying his favourite strategy when faced with situations he was deeply apprehensive about. Draco tended to become more arrogant, lofty and cold, more like the former 'Ice Prince' persona he'd had at Hogwarts, when he was anxious or scared. As such, Harry knew the best way to deal with that was not to rise to any bait the blonde lay out, and definitely not to mollycoddle him.

"Seems okay," Harry decided, glancing briefly around the surrounding cityscape. His gaze fixed upon the decrepit shopfront populated by mannequins wearing terribly out of date clothing. "Come on."

They walked in silence, Harry leading the way this time. At the shopfront Harry stopped and turned to Draco, his expression serious. "If you've changed your mind at _all..._"

Draco seemed paler than usual, if that was even possible, but his grey eyes were steely, his jaw taut. "I haven't, Potter."

Harry's eyes swept across the blondes face. "Whatever happens in there, I want to make sure you know...I'm here for you, Malfoy."

Draco drew back, suddenly finding their proximity a bit much and startled by the depth and strength of Harry's loyalty. To cover himself, he sneered. "Fat lot of good it'll do me, Merlin knows." His expression softened. "But thanks."

Harry smiled and jerked his head in the direction of the glass windows. "Let's go. I'll go in first."

The lobby of St Mungo's, whilst not wholly bustling with people at that time of day, still held a considerable amount of people. As Harry and Draco walked in several of the people sitting in the waiting seats or lined up at the Welcome Witch desk glanced around, froze, and then began openly staring and pointing.

"Eyes front and keep moving," Harry hissed at Draco, trying determinedly to avoid the increasing buzz in the room as more and more people realised who had just walked in.

Draco tried to do just that, but it was difficult with so many people gawking openly at him. In the weeks he'd been out of the hospital the only people he'd been around were Harry, Pansy, Blaise, Granger, Weasley and Sev. It was confronting, realising that newspaper article he'd read yesterday had been one among many, and that so much of the wizarding world was following the saga with such rabid interest. He heard people whispering and murmuring as he and Potter passed.

'_Is that Draco Malfoy?'_

'_He looks fine to me...'_

'_Attempted murder...'_

'_Animus...'_

'_Wonder what he's here for?'_

'_The Prophet says...'_

'_Bet he's here for a check up.'_

'_Nah, probably to see his poor mother. Malfoy family just aren't lucky, eh?'_

Draco gritted his teeth against the urge to find whoever had dared mention his mother. The grief, the sense of loss after what he'd learnt yesterday still felt like a deep, open wound inside him, and that comment had felt like a knife jabbed directly into that wound. He suddenly could've cared less what anyone said about him – all he cared was that no one should discuss his mother like that, like just another piece of gossip.

"It's okay," Harry murmured out of the corner of his mouth, sensing the mounting tension in the blonde. "Just get to the lift."

After what seemed like several eternities they reached the lifts. Draco heaved a sigh of relief as the doors glided smoothly closed upon the gawking faces of the people in the lobby.

Harry fixed a serious gaze upon Draco. "You alright?"

Draco blew out a breath. "Yeah. I'm not used to that...that feeling, like I'm a walking circus or something."

Harry smiled self-depreciatingly. "Welcome to my world."

Draco was silent, contemplating as the lift beared him ever upwards to his mother. He had some inkling, now, what things must've been like for Potter at Hogwarts when all the big controversies happened...hell, what things must still be like for him.

"Does it get better?" he asked tentatively.

"Nah," Harry said broodingly. "Seems to get worse sometimes. But there are some things that come with being a person in the public eye that you have to accept." His gaze met Draco's. "Like it or not, we're both people very prone to being in the public eye. Even before this whole thing."

'Level four,' cut in the disembodied voice that announced the destinations of the lift. 'Spell damage.'

The doors slid smoothly open, and they stepped out.

"One thing at a time, though," Harry said quietly.

Draco felt his heart drumming rapidly inside his chest, unable all of a sudden to think of anything but what Blaise and Pansy had said yesterday.

_She was tortured..._ _beaten, Crucio'd for hours, both arms and legs broken, then dumped at St Mungo's. She's still alive, but...Draco, she was tortured into insanity. The kind you don't, you know, come back from._

And his world had narrowed down to one thing – his mother, and the price she had paid for her husband. For her family. For her son.

Harry watched the anguish flickering in Draco's grey eyes and couldn't take it anymore, couldn't stand the distance between them. He seized Draco and pulled him into a swift and crushing hug, feeling dizzy as he breathed in the heady scent of the blonde's hair, his skin. He closed his eyes in bliss, feeling guilty for this stolen moment of personal heaven when Draco was in personal hell.

"Janus Thickey ward," he breathed. "Just down the corridor. I'll be right outside. Take as long as you want."

Too stunned to do much else, Draco whispered, "Thanks, Potter," disengaged himself from his disconcertingly warm and safe place in Harry's arms, turned and set off down the corridor.

Draco walked past the emergency rooms, one of which he'd spent a fortnight in, past the few other wards in the corridor...onwards until he reached the door marked the Janus Thickey ward.

Heart hammering and hands shaking, he took a deep breath to steady himself and then opened the door.

The first impression of the place wasn't much. A typical hospital room, with floral patterns on the curtains. White linen on the beds. Cheery paintings on the pastel walls. Lockhart was there, sitting cross legged on his bed and humming dreamily as he scrawled loopy signatures on large photographs of himself. He didn't even look up as Draco passed by. There on the other side, staring into space, Longbottom's parents. Potter had already told him they would be there, but Draco would've guessed anyway. The fate of Alice and Frank Longbottom was one of the great tragedies from the First War. He didn't care about any of this, though. What he was invariably drawn to was the last bed at the very end of the ward, by the window, the floral curtains drawn around it illuminated by the weak sun filtering through from outside.

A Healer nurse was there, fiddling with a floral arrangement in a vase on the bedside table. She looked around when she heard Draco approach, and promptly jumped a mile when she recognised him.

"Draco Malfoy!" she fluttered her hands nervously, her eyes wide. "You...where did you come from? I didn't hear you come in. Why, most people think you were paralysed, or brain damaged, or worse from that incident at Animus, you poor dear! I'm mighty surprised to see you here of all places, middle of London and all..."

Draco cut across her babble curtly. "I want to see my mother."

"Narcissa." The Healer nurse's bubbly features seemed to deflate just from saying the name. "Narcissa Malfoy. Her son, here to see her. Well of course. I should warn you, though..." she lowered her voice, "today is...has not been her best day."

"I don't care," Draco said loudly, startling Lockhart from his autograph signing, causing him to peer curiously down the ward at the visitor. "I demand to see her, now."

The Healer nurse bit her lip and fluttered her hands nervously again. "Of course, of course." The few seconds it took her to take hold of part of the curtain and tug it aside seemed to take forever to pass. But pass they did, the curtains opened with a whoosh, and there she was.

"Mother," Draco whimpered.

Narcissa Malfoy had struck a proud figure all her life. Tall, beautiful and effortlessly elegant, Draco could only remember her ever being in the best cut of robes, the finest materials, dripping in jewels and perfume. The Malfoys were wizarding royalty, she was fond of telling Draco. He was a prince, and she was a queen, and it was important they acted accordingly. Draco had idolised his mother. She was so graceful, so calm, so in control of absolutely everything, so refined, so beautiful.

The figure on the bed was startlingly different.

Narcissa Malfoy had retained the headful of waist-length, pale blonde hair she'd always had, but her bearing, her carriage, was gone. Gone was the queen and here was some servant girl, clothed in an unbearably plain white cotton hospital gown. She was lying back on the bed, eyes staring off to some middle distance, her expression blank, her face hollowed, almost gaunt, her long strands of hair limp and lifeless over her shoulders and arms. She seemed old, older than her years truly dictated she should be, her glowing alabaster complexion dulled.

"Mother," Draco croaked.

Narcissa head snapped around to face him, her once clear blue eyes gone vacant and distant. Draco stood frozen in her gaze, trembling.

"Do gather all the little ones for supper," she said suddenly, her usually melodious and cool voice gone wispy and sing-song in tone. "Musn't be late, musn't be late, my pet."

Draco watched disbelievingly as she continued to ramble. "Now look what you've done, burning the cake, love. Burnt to a crisp, it is. Ruined my tea party, you have. Fuss, fuss, fuss..." Suddenly she emitted a shrill whimper, leaning forward. Draco moved forward automatically, went to put his arm around his mother, give some kind of comfort as she sobbed. But when he touched her she screamed and her eyes went wild.

"The bad men!" she wailed, pointing at Draco. "They come in the night, from the stars, stroke our skin, then burn it all off!"

"It's okay!" Draco tried frantically to reassure her, but she continued to wail.

"No hope is there in the dream garden, none at all, no, none at all..." she began to physically rock back and forth, her painfully thin arms wrapping around her legs, drawn into her chest.

"Mother, it's me!" Draco said desperately, trying to get into her vision, make her realise, make her see that he was there.

"_Little boy, little boy, don't you cry," _Narcissa crooned, _"The world's not fair, you don't know why, hush my love for I am here, I've got you now, don't you fear..."_

She began laughing hysterically, practically hiccupping with it, then abruptly stopped and reached out to Draco. "They're coming!" she said urgently, seizing him by the shoulders and looking into his eyes. "Dancing on starshine, promises, promises, you see? Lies through forked teeth, all at once falling, falling in the night."

Draco felt tears gather and overflow as she sat back, suddenly gone quiet once more, her gaze fixed to the window. Then there were arms, warm and comforting, wrapping around him, pulling him close, a slight weight on his shoulder and then he was being turned and enfolded into those arms. And he knew, knew without looking.

"My mother, Harry," Draco said faintly, and then the tears really came, sobs racking his whole body as he felt himself being guided away from his now screaming mother.

_TBC_

**AN: Ah, the angst! I've loosely based Narcissa off both Drusilla from Buffy and also a woman we call 'the Rhyming Lady' who comes into my work sometimes.**

**So. Here's hoping people actually review this time around! It was very discouraging, you know. I do like feedback on what I write.**

**Putting the call out again for a beta. I really think I need some help shaping this story into what I want it to be. So...call me ;) or PM me. Whatevs.**

**Until next time, **

**bleedingxheart**


	9. The Coping Method

**AN: ** **Yay, reviewers! Thanks to the people who reviewed. Although I still do need a beta – you wouldn't believe how hard it was to come up with the scenes for this new chapter. Please help me make this story what I want it to be! –grovels- **

**Oh and btw, there's a scene in this chapter which is entirely Lucia's thoughts, all in italics. Just in case anyone gets confused as to what the hell is going on there.**

Chapter Nine: The Coping Method

_**Sunday June 28**__**th**_

"Draco?" Harry called down the entry corridor of the apartment, hoping to get the blonde to stop and listen. The only answer Harry got was a resounding thud of the bedroom door, and then silence.

Harry stood frozen on the threshold of the front entry, silently contemplating what to do next. He had intervened back at St Mungo's when he'd heard Draco's distress, enfolding Draco into his arms, trying to offer some semblance of comfort. They'd ended the visit there, but by the time they'd reached the lift Draco had gone still and cold and distant as the moon, barely responding to anything Harry had said. And then the lobby...

Harry checked his watch and saw with relief that the time meant Hermione would be at home around now, doing research in the tiny study of the house she and Ron shared. Harry tossed his wallet and keys onto a side table in the corridor and walked into the lounge room, heading straight for the fireplace. Taking some Floo powder from the mantelpiece, he cast a brief Incendio on the remains from the last fire and then threw the glittering powder into the flames. Once the fire was a bright green he knelt down before the hearth and stuck his head forward, calling out Ron and Hermione's address as loudly as he could.

The world spun briefly for a few moments before he found himself looking into Hermione's study. Hermione was at the crowded desk, eyebrows furrowed as she poured over a thick book.

"Hermione?"

Hermione jumped in her seat, her gaze flicking to the fireplace, seeming surprised to see Harry's head looking back at her. "Harry," she greeted after a beat. A smile blooming onto her face, she scraped back her chair and crossed the room to kneel before him. "What's the problem?" Concern flooded her expression. "How's Draco handling everything?"

"Not...well," Harry hedged. "I checked on him last night and he was having bad dreams. I ended up..." a flush swept over his cheeks at the memory of sharing a bed with the blonde, "well that doesn't matter so much now. But this morning he asked to go see her."

Hermione gasped, her hands flying over her mouth.

"I probably should've insisted he wait..." Harry's eyes filled with remorse, "but it was his mother Hermione, he had every right to see her."

"Not to mention when Draco says jump, you immediately ask how high," Hermione said half-exasperatedly, half-amusedly.

"That too," Harry murmured. "We just got back."

Hermione waited, knowing Harry would explain in his own time.

"It was bad," Harry said softly, his gaze fixed on some middle distance. "I knew it would be, of course, but...he went in alone, and not even a few minutes later he was screaming, crying out, pleading with her to recognise him. I got him out of there as soon as that started happening."

Hermione's brown eyes were widened with sympathy. "Poor Draco," she breathed.

"We went to leave and I could just feel him drawing further and further away from me," Harry said anxiously. "He grew more and more quiet and still and distant, but it got worse when we reached the lobby. A fair amount of people had seen us enter beforehand, so by the time we came back..."

Hermione interpreted the dark expression on her friend's face. "Reporters?"

Harry nodded once. "A whole crowd of them, waiting for us. The Welcome Witch wouldn't tell them which floor we'd gone to or how long we'd been there, and she wouldn't let them any further than the lobby. So they waited."

"Oh no..."

"I did the best I could, tried to get him through it without too much hassle, didn't answer any questions, didn't say a word to them. Draco didn't either, obviously, but it was hell trying to get out of there." Harry rubbed his face tiredly. "Once we got outside I managed to get the Invisibility Cloak over us, and we Apparated away, but..."

"There'll be articles about it tomorrow," Hermione surmised, looking sad. "Poor Draco, having his own family tragedy interrupted by stupid speculation and idle rumours."

"There was something else though," Harry said. "Just before we left the lobby one of the reporters asked something along the lines of how well Draco was recovering in the company of his boyfriend. But," Harry held up a hand at Hermione's horrified expression, "I don't _think _Draco heard, or if he did, I don't think it registered with him. I think he was too wrapped up in his own head with Narcissa to concentrate on exactly what we were being asked."

"Good," Hermione said with a sigh of relief. "It would be too much for him to find that out now after everything else he's been through already. Not that," she hastened to add when Harry's expression seemed to grow more miserable, "there's a possibility he won't take the news _that _badly, or like he'll equate it to something as horrible as finding out what happened to his mother!"

Harry smiled vaguely, but still seemed despondent.

"So what's he doing now?" Hermione asked, desperate to change the subject.

"He went straight to the bedroom, shut the door. No doubt locked it as well. He's doing exactly what he did the other time he saw his mother, but this time..." Harry took a deep breath, "He doesn't trust me. He doesn't love me; he doesn't know how much I love him. He won't accept any comfort from me. Barely even acknowledged me. What am I meant to do?"

Hermione ached for her friend, her poor Harry, forced through so much difficulty and so much pain since the day Draco had walked into Animus. "You'll just have to let him cope with what's happened in his own way," she said softly. "Be there if he needs you. He's just seen his mother the way he never thought he would – he needs time to grieve, space to come to terms with things, process the circumstances he doesn't remember. And you can help him with that, Harry."

"I'll have to call in sick to work," Harry mused. "To take care of him."

"No!" Hermione said urgently. "Life needs to go on, and he needs to see that it can, that it does. He needs the routines you've set up. Monday's my day for tutelage anyway, with Ancient Runes, so it's not like he'll be left alone to wallow all day. I'll be there late morning to try and help take his mind off the pain. No, Harry, you have to go to work."

Harry looked mutinous, but under Hermione's stern gaze he quailed. "Alright, alright," he said reluctantly, "you're completely right, as always. Fine. I'll go to work. But I don't think he'll want to do any work with you. Last time he barely moved from the bed for a week."

--

_**Azkaban Prison**_

_Murderer. Murderer, you wanted Draco Malfoy dead, you wanted to kill him, you planned it all._

_I didn't, I didn't, I swear I didn't, I'm...innocent..._

_GUILTY!_

_Innocent..._

_GUILTY!_

_Why would I ever have wanted to..._

_He killed Lucius. He took Lucius away. Lucius._

_Oh yes...Lucius._

_That's right. Draco Malfoy should've died for what he did. That's why you're guilty._

_Yes...but no, no, it doesn't seem right, Lucius was..._

_Beloved. Ours. He was taken away._

_Taken away from me..._

_Yes, that's right. Taken away. The Malfoy boy deserves death. Deserved wanted to kill him, you still want to kill him._

_I don't know..._

_Revenge for Lucius. Ah, but the little snivelling fool regretted it, came for relief from the pain...as if he can IMAGINE the pain?!_

_No, he can't imagine..._

_REGRETS killing beloved Lucius, wants relief for his OWN pain, didn't stop to think what he was doing to us when he did it, did he?_

_Draco killed Lucius. Took him away..._

_He escaped that one time, lucky to be alive, the filth..._

_Filth..._

_But he'll regret it, make him regret it. Lucius was killed to save the Boy-Who-Lived, to save Draco's fuckbuddy, his whore._

_No, no, don't..._

_Yes, yes, must. Must take the Boy, lure Draco, kill them both. Revenge for beloved Lucius._

_...yes..._

_**Revenge.**_

--

_**8:30pm**_

Harry felt like he was going crazy. All afternoon he'd been striving to take Hermione's advice to heart and just let Draco be for a while. He had caught up on every bit of paperwork, read every case study that had been assigned to him since he'd started work as an Auror, gone over every profile of Dark wizards at large that he could find. Sat and watched his favourite show. Practised his Transfiguration skills for the hell of it. Thought of something to cook for dinner, and had gone out to buy the ingredients. Come home and actually cook the meal. And still, after all this, not a word or sound from behind the closed bedroom door.

After standing at the kitchen counter debating with himself for ten minutes, Harry finally made his way up the corridor, stood before the bedroom door, and knocked.

"Draco?" he called. "Dinner's ready, I made a shepherd's pie."

No response. It was almost as if he was talking to himself.

"Draco?"

There were several more moments of silence. And then, "Go away, Potter. I'm busy," muffled through the door.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm _fine,_" a tone suspiciously like a hiss, "I'm just _busy, _so if you please, _go away."_

Harry dithered for a few seconds, indecisive. "Do you mind if I come in?"

The distinctive sound of an irritated huff. "If you want."

The door was unlocked from the inside with a soft click, and Harry cautiously entered.

Draco was lying on the bed, surrounded by parchment and books, a quill in his hand and an inkpot by his elbow. His gaze when it fixed on Harry was cold and angry, the grey eyes icy, the mouth curved into a sneer. Harry knew immediately that the 'Ice Prince' persona was back.

"What are you staring at, Potter?" Draco demanded.

"Nothing," Harry murmured, melancholy stealing over him like a fine mist. As he'd said to Hermione before, Draco was dealing with the aftermath of seeing his hospital-bound mother in exactly the same way as he had the other time he'd gone to visit her, before the War. Withdraw. Concentrate on study. Pull away from any attempts of help, from contact with others, and put up that cold, hard exterior to pretend it doesn't hurt.

Only this time, Harry didn't know whether Draco wanted him to try and help.

Harry silently crossed the room and perched on the very edge of the bed, invading Draco's personal bubble. Draco cringed away but Harry kept coming, reaching out to gently cup the side of Draco's face with his hand.

"You do whatever you have to do to deal with this," he said seriously, staring into those cold and angry eyes. "I know it's hard, Draco, and it hurts. I'll do things your way, but I need you to know that the second you realise you can't hide from what's happened, I'll be there for you. I lo-" Abruptly Harry cut off and corrected himself. "I...care about you, a lot, and I hate seeing you like this." Something flickered in Draco's eyes, and Harry bravely plunged on. "I know you don't remember me as anything other than your enemy, but we were...extremely good friends before you went to Animus, and I for one still think of you as such."

With a rueful smile, half to himself, Harry moved his hand back, stood up and made towards the door, leaving a silent Draco in his wake. At the door he paused, and still keeping his back to the blonde, said quietly, "I just want you to be able to trust me again, Draco." With that he stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him, then stood waiting for the click that would mean Draco had locked him out again.

It took a lot longer to come than he thought it would.

--

_**Monday June 29**__**th**_

_DRACO MALFOY SPOTTED AT ST MUNGO'S, ACCOMPANIED BY 'BOYFRIEND-WHO-LIVED'_

_Early yesterday afternoon the Daily Prophet received a tip off that Mr Draco Malfoy, 19, had been spotted walking through St Mungo's Hospital in the company of long-term boyfriend and Wizarding World Savior Harry Potter, 18. The tip off was shortly proven to be correct when the pair returned to the lobby not 10 minutes later. Excitement and rumour over Mr Malfoy's first public appearance since his release from St Mungo's following his attempted murder by Miss Lucia Hevelle, 31, has been rife. Until now, the status of Mr Malfoy's health and wellbeing since the incident at Animus has been wholly unknown, and this unexpected, seemingly random visit to the hospital has left many with their own impression of him._

_Eyewitness Lily Bellus, 35, of London, said Mr Malfoy 'seemed perfectly healthy [to me]! Didn't seem injured or handicapped in the slightest by what was done to him, poor soul. Just walked across the lobby like it was every day he was out and about in public.'_

_Mr Malfoy was of course accompanied on this mysterious visit by his long-term partner Mr Harry Potter, who according to rumours has been assisting Mr Malfoy in his recuperation from the attempted murder. Eyewitnesses attest to the 'cosy' and 'intimate' manner between them, saying the pair walked close to each other and 'whispered little nothings into each other's ears as they walked. The wizarding public as a whole, it seems, can rejoice in the seeming health of Mr Malfoy following the tragedy of his attempted murder and the apparent strengthening of the relationship between Mr Potter and himself in the wake of the incident. _

_Meanwhile, outrage over the role of Miss Lucia Hevelle following her arrest on Friday for that very attempted murder continues to spread, with the Ministry inundated with demands for justice. A date for Miss Hevelle's trial, consequently, is rumoured to be announced any day this week by Augustus Ridgeworth, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. No doubt eyewitnesses will delight in a public show of strength and defiance from the long-term partners when the trial comes._

--

_**Harry and Draco's apartment, 7:00am**_

The headline gracing the front page of the Daily Prophet that morning was really not what Harry wanted to see that time of the morning. Or ever, really. He stood stock still in horror in the corridor, staring at the emblazoned words declaring him the 'Boyfriend-Who-Lived' of Draco for all the wizarding world to see. Worse, the article was accompanied by a large picture of him and Draco in the lobby, walking towards the waiting sea of reporters and then attempting to fight their way through. Harry's eyes widened in alarm as he watched. Even worse, the picture clearly showed Harry seizing Draco's hand and murmuring something into his ear just before they fought their way through. To anyone who saw the picture, it definitely did look like he and Draco were together.

In another world, Harry reflected, he would've been perfectly fine with this, blasé even. He and Draco would've laughed together over the ridiculous public interest in them. Maybe Draco would have even gently ribbed Harry for the stupid nickname bestowed on him by the Prophet, and then when Harry pretended to sulk, kiss him for forgiveness. But today...if Draco saw this...

Harry heard the bedroom door open further down the corridor and practically sprinted into the kitchen, praying Draco hadn't noticed the mad dash and frantically trying to think what to do with the newspaper. Harry heard footsteps coming down the corridor and made a split second decision, flinging the paper into the trashcan just as Draco walked into the kitchen.

"Morning," he tried to say in as normal a tone as possible, swinging open the pantry doors to get some cereal.

Draco coolly nodded his head as he primly sat at the dining table, and inwardly Harry sighed in frustration. Despite his heartfelt words the night before, the Ice Prince persona remained. Well, that was just fine.

Harry pulled out a box of Quidditch Hoops, the only cereal that he and Draco both enjoyed, retrieved two bowls, two spoons and a carton of milk before setting it all down onto the table and taking a seat himself.

Without a word Draco began serving himself breakfast, not even looking at Harry. Harry waited until Draco was finished and then served his own food in turn, setting the half-empty box down between them. They ate in silence for several minutes before Harry felt he simply had to say something.

"I'm glad to see you out of your room, Draco," he ventured.

Draco swallowed the mouthful he'd just chewed. "I was hungry," he said in a blank tone.

_Right, _Harry thought, and he resumed his meal silently, every now and then looking up at Draco.

When he was finished he took his bowl back to the sink, washed it out and then stowed it in the dishwasher. He straightened up and watched Draco finishing off his breakfast for a few seconds before venturing into conversation again. "I have work today, so there's leftover shepherd's pie from last night in the fridge for lunch if you want it. I spoke to Hermione last night, she said she'd be over at the usual time this morning to do Ancient Runes with you. I should be home at the usual time as well, tonight."

Draco looked up at Harry, still distant, still angry, still cold in demeanour. "You don't need to baby me, Potter," he said scathingly. "I could care less what time you get home."

Harry swallowed against the hurt and maintained eye contact with Draco. "I'll be back tonight," he repeated. "And I'm not babying you. I said last night I'll do things your way for a while if you want to be like this. But I still care about you and still hate seeing you like this." He gathered up his things and left the kitchen area, walking past the dining table towards the door before pausing to turn back around. "Even if you wish I didn't. Have a good day, Draco."

Harry swept out the door, shutting it firmly behind him. Draco listened to the front door to the apartment open, then close, then to the resounding silence left behind. He felt his resolve melting, felt frustrated with himself for putting the distance between them in the first place. Staring at the place where Potter had just been, meeting his gaze and saying he cared about Draco as if it was the most natural thing to say in the world, Draco felt inexplicably angry with Potter for making this so hard. He just wanted to deal with this alone. Damn Potter for caring. Damn Potter.

--

_**9:00am**_

Several hours later found Draco in the lounge room, determinedly pouring over the Ancient Runes textbook Granger had given him a few weeks back and trying not to think about anything other than what he was reading, but finding it very difficult. The same mental images kept floating past his mind's eye. His mother, glazed eyes wide, babbling nonsense at him, looking right at him but not recognising him. His mother as he last remembered her before the truth came out – graceful and beautiful. Potter, telling him he cared about him, sincerity shining through his bright green eyes. Harry at the dining table before they went to St Mungo's, telling him he didn't want Draco to go through the visit alone.

_Get out of my head, _he mentally snarled, mostly at Potter, and promptly redoubled his efforts to focus entirely on Chapter Two: Advanced History of Runes.

There was a sudden flare of bright green from the flames smouldering in the fireplace and a bushy-haired figure appeared, spinning quickly on the spot. As the blaze died down Hermione stepped smartly into the lounge room, dusting off excess ash from the shoulders of her robe.

"Good morning, Malfoy," she greeted.

Draco flicked his right hand in a vague acknowledgement of her presence. Several silent moments passed until a shadow fell across the page he was perusing. Glancing up he saw Granger standing directly before him, arms crossed, performing what seemed to be a wordless appraisal of him.

Rolling his eyes, Draco snapped the textbook shut and glared at her. "I'm _fine, _Granger," he said exasperatedly.

Hermione continued to stare silently at him, her eyes flicking over his face as though hoping to see some kind of emotion there.

_She's not going to bloody get any, _Draco resolved. "Shall we get started?" He asked loudly, getting to his feet and gesturing her towards the kitchen, where they usually did their work at the dining table.

Hermione blinked and then plastered an entirely fake, polite little smile onto her face. "By all means," she said genially, and led the way.

Once they'd sat down to work Hermione determined to play this the way Draco wanted it. If he wanted to not acknowledge the trauma of his weekend and pretend he was fine and dandy to concentrate on Ancient Runes, then that was fine. For a good hour or so they did just that, her firing questions at him and setting tasks to complete while she went over the extra work she'd left him the week before. Around 10:30 found Draco fidgeting while Hermione went over an essay response he'd written from last week. She kept her eyes down, suspecting that it wouldn't be long before Draco let the cold demeanour drop.

Draco played with his quill, twirling it round and round in his hand, sneaking glances at Hermione every so often. Try as he might, the strategy of blocking everything out wasn't working for him. He kept thinking of his mother, kept thinking of Potter. As the silence stretched on, he tried to detract from the question he wanted to ask, kept trying to occupy himself with other things, but it was too hard.

Mind made up, he set down his quill and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Hey Granger? Can I ask you something?"

Hermione looked up, inwardly pleased that he was finally engaging. "Of course, Malfoy."

Draco felt his cheeks heat as he determinedly avoided her gaze. Merlin, it was so _embarrassing _to have to resort to getting information off _Granger _of all people. "Back before...before I lost my memory, did I visit my mother?"

Hermione furrowed her brow, unsure why exactly he wanted to know. "Just once," she answered slowly. "The summer, after we graduated."

"And did...did Potter come with me, then?"

Hermione had to hide a smile at the overly casual tone Draco was using. "Yes, of course he did. You were...extremely good friends, and he wanted to support you."

Why, Draco wondered absently, did everyone always hesitate slightly before describing he and Potter as extremely good friends before the incident?

"You didn't take it well." Hermione looked squarely at Draco and said boldly, "In fact, you did the exact same thing that you're doing now. You withdrew from everyone, even Harry, only wanted to focus on study."

Draco remained silent, not even bothering to deny it. Hermione plunged on, "Harry was a wonderful support to you. He helped you deal with seeing her, helped you deal with the grief, the sense of loss the visit left you with. I remember how worried he was about you. He wrote an Owl to me and Ron every day fretting about you until you finally opened up to him."

"Well," Draco said, frustrated, "that was all very well and good for back then, when we were such _good _friends and everything, but who says I need his help now?"

"Malfoy," Hermione said firmly, "don't be an idiot. You may not remember him for what he was to you before, but he does. He still loves...er," she hurriedly tried to correct herself when she saw one of Draco's pale blonde eyebrows rise, "still really cares about you. It's Harry, for Merlin's sake. He can't not want to help the people he cares about."

Draco watched Granger carefully, and saw the faint blush on her cheeks that had appeared after what seemed to be a slip of the tongue. "_Loves _me?" he asked quietly.

"As a friend," Hermione lied hastily. "Like he loves me, like he loves Ron. The point is," she said loudly, "Harry is the best friend anyone can ask for if you let him be."

"As a friend," Draco repeated quietly, almost to himself. Hermione imagined he nearly sounded disappointed.

_Bollocks. _"I think we've done all we can for today," Hermione babbled, hurriedly gathering her things. "Look, just think about what I've said, Malfoy. Don't withdraw from Harry, things are hard enough right now for you both. You need each other." Draco was, unnervingly, still quiet. "And um, read over chapters 4 and 5 and do the questions I've left for you for next week. I think that's all."

She checked again to see if she had all her things and then went to move towards the door, but paused to turn back to him. "And Malfoy?"

Draco glanced up at her.

"I'm still, as I always was, really, really sorry about your mother," she said quietly. "But think about what I said."

With that she turned and left the kitchen, heading for the fireplace in the lounge room. Draco listened to her rekindle the flames, listened to her call out her address and the soft whoosh as she was spun from the apartment. He turned to stare blankly at the Ancient Runes textbook, but didn't see the translation chart spread out before him.

He saw the emerald green of Harry's eyes from the past few weeks, filled with sadness, hurt, sincerity and a myriad of other emotions as he looked at Draco. Remembered their fight a few weeks back; '_we went through so much together and now it's like it never happened and I'm the one who remembers what we were and it hurts __so much __that you don't!' _He recalled, distantly, that even back when he'd just been released from the hospital there had seemed to be something...suspicious with Potter, something everyone wasn't telling him.

Well, Draco reflected, he wasn't much closer to figuring out what it was, but now he was absolutely certain there was something.

_TBC_

**AN: I'm trying really hard to get Draco to that all-important realisation, honestly! I just don't want it to be too soon. Canon Draco would've probably figured it out by now, but...I don't know, put it down to brain damage from the attempted murder why he's being a bit slower than usual ;)**

**So! Once again, just repeating, still wanting a beta to help me out with this story. Please? Pretty please? And if you could review that would be fantastic as well! **

**Until next time,**

**bleedingxheart**


	10. The Proposal

**AN: Thanks to the people who reviewed, you're all awesome! Can't believe I'm on chapter 10 already of this story. And to think, when I wrote the first chapter it was just a plotbunny, and I had no idea what I was doing...-tear-**

**I do apologise also if I got anyone excited, with the title of this chapter. It's not **_**quite **_**what you might think...**

Chapter Ten: The Proposal

_**Wednesday 1**__**st**__** July**_

Harry inclined his head in response to the shouted greetings of the other Aurors in their shared workspace. Being as famous as he was, Harry's status rendered him the most popular amongst his workmates, and along with that, the one most talked about. Harry counted the majority of them as friends but knew very well all were dying for information about Draco. Harry kept a fake smile plastered across his face as he made his way across the floor to his workspace. He'd never talked about Draco to his co-workers, but today in particular was a day he wanted to avoid contact with the others.

It was one month since Draco had walked into Animus, straight into the office of his would-be murderer Lucia Hevelle. One month since he'd survived the murder attempt but instead lost all memory of his relationship with Harry, of the fate of his parents, of everything beyond the first month of fifth year. One month that had seemed like a veritable eternity for Harry. He hated Lucia Hevelle, hated her passionately for what she had done to his boyfriend, despised her even further in the knowledge that she had planned on much worse. The thought of Draco murdered...

Harry shuddered inwardly as he took a seat at his desk. Thinking that way wasn't helpful at all.

On his desk, sitting directly above everything else, waited a bright purple Ministry of Magic memo, stamped with the silver badge of the Ministry and addressed to him. Cautiously, Harry picked it up and unfolded it.

_Mr Potter, _it read.

_The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement requests your presence at a discussion regarding Department Incident number 10620082009. Kindly respond without delay with a time today that will be convenient for you, as this matter is urgent._

_Signed,_

_Secretary to Augustus Ridgeworth, Delia Hectorius_

Harry blinked, skimming over the brief message once more. There was of course only one thing that would require an interview between him and the LE Department head himself. Harry retrieved a fresh sheet of the enchanted parchment which departments used for these memos and quickly composed a response indicating he was on his way at that very moment. After watching the memo zoom off towards the lift, Harry hurriedly checked his appearance and straightened his robes before following in its wake.

--

Augustus Ridgeworth, being the important Ministry figure that he was, kept decidedly nice digs. His office was preceded by a foyer in which Harry found who he presumed must be Ridgeworth's secretary, Delia. She was hurrying out of a pair of double doors which closed swiftly behind her. Seeing Harry, she crossed the foyer to a large mahogany desk against the opposing wall, sat down and smiled at him.

"Mr Potter," she greeted. "My apologies, as delighted as the Head is with your prompt response I'm afraid I must request on his behalf that you wait for a few moments for him to get ready." She waved an elegant hand towards several plush looking chairs and a table covered in magazines. "I'll inform you once the Head is ready."

Ready for what, Harry wondered, but he smiled and thanked Delia before taking a seat in one of the indicated chairs. While he waited he idly glanced over the magazines, and saw that nearly every single one had a headline on its front cover that was to do with Draco, himself, or both of them.

Several minutes passed before Delia waved him over. "Mr Potter, the Head will see you now," she announced, pointing him towards the double doors she'd entered the foyer through. Thanking her again Harry headed towards them, pulling on the finely wrought handle and stepping into Ridgeworth's office.

It was a handsome room, filled with the same mahogany furniture as Delia's desk and lined with exotic looking rugs. A large desk dominated the room and seated behind this was Ridgeworth. He stood when Harry entered the room and offered a large, dark-skinned hand.

"Mr Potter, I thank you for coming to see me so quickly," he said, his dark eyes gleaming at Harry.

"My pleasure," Harry replied, shaking the hand and then taking a seat in one of two chairs that were arranged in front of the desk. Ridgeworth sat back down as well.

"So, I'm sure you're wondering why I wished to see you," he said genially.

"About Department Incident number 10620082009, which I assume is referring to my boyfriend's near death at the hands of a madwoman," Harry shot back, feeling suddenly irritated with all the pomp and carryon. "I've heard through the grapevine that you've taken on the case."

Ridgeworth's demeanour changed immediately, to one Harry would describe as fawning. "Of course, Mr Potter, a crime as great as the one committed against Draco Malfoy wouldn't do without the special attention of the Head of Department himself in order to ensure justice is served." He leaned forward slightly. "That's the reason why I asked you here, Mr Potter. As one who was very nearly left bereaved by Lucia Hevelle's actions, I felt it my duty to ensure you were the first to be informed."

"Of what?" Harry asked curtly.

"A date has been set for Miss Hevelle's trial," Ridgeworth declared. "It will be announced in the Prophet tomorrow morning, of course, but I wanted you to know first."

Harry leaned forward himself now. "When?"

"Two weeks from today," Ridgeworth said. "July 15th."

An eerie calmness settled over Harry. Two weeks. One fortnight until justice was administered for what had been done to his Draco. Still, it seemed slightly rushed, and he said as such.

"You don't understand my position, Mr Potter," Ridgeworth said gravely in response. "Every day, even one month on, I am still inundated with demands from the wizarding public for action against Miss Hevelle. I receive mail from beyond the borders of Great Britain even. Witches and wizards everywhere are baying for the blood of the woman who meant to kill one of the heroes of the Great War, the Boy-Who-Lived's acknowledged partner besides. I have conducted a thorough investigation and based on evidence I have collected, the Wizengamot are just as eager to proceed to trial." He arched an eyebrow at Harry. "Unless you would rather longer delays?"

"No no," Harry said quickly, "it just seems...unusual. But I'm not objecting in the slightest."

"Very good, then." Ridgeworth sat back into his chair. "Now I know that Mr Malfoy, thanks to his injuries from the attempted murder, will in fact be unable to testify against Miss Hevelle, but I still wish to formally exchange an invitation to both of you to be present at the trial in two weeks time. I would understand, of course, if attending will be too difficult for you."

Harry didn't hesitate. "We'll be there," he said firmly. Thinking of Draco's outrage the Saturday before over the discovery his 'accident' had been an attempted murder, he knew that Draco would want to be at the trial. He himself was already looking forward to seeing _something _being done against the woman who could have very easily murdered his boyfriend. "We'll definitely be there."

"Excellent!" Ridgeworth beamed. "I believe that is all of note I wished to discuss with you. Oh and by the way, I do apologise for the...clinical tone of the memo that was sent to you. I never intended to offend you in any way, Mr Potter."

Harry inclined his head. "Thank you."

"I will advise you to keep posted to the Prophet for information pertaining to the trial as the date approaches. Miss Hevelle herself will not be informed of the setting of a date for the trial until tomorrow morning."

Harry inclined his head again, feeling hatred surge in his gut at the mention of her name. He hadn't felt loathing like this since the days of Voldemort. "Thank you, Ridgeworth, I appreciate it." He stood as Ridgeworth stood and shook hands again, and was halfway to the door back to the foyer when Ridgeworth spoke again.

"Oh, and Mr Potter?"

Harry turned back around.

"If I may be so bold..." Ridgeworth seemed suddenly hesitant, "May I enquire as to the health and wellbeing of Mr Malfoy? I read about his appearance in public at St Mungo's on Sunday, and..."

"He's fine," Harry said tersely. "As fine as he could be expected to be, in any case."

Ridgeworth nodded slowly, his dark eyes furrowed into an expression of sympathy. "Naturally," he said. "Good day to you, Mr Potter."

"Good day, Ridgeworth."

--

Draco was, of course, _not _fine, but the truth would have been too complicated to explain to Ridgeworth. Back at the apartment, Draco had just started his day of Astronomy and Arithmacy with Pansy, and already the blonde was driving Pansy up the wall. He was fidgety, distracted, and snappy whenever Pansy managed to engage him in what they were doing. She was trying to go over the answers to the long-answer questions she'd left for him to complete the week before, but it just wasn't happening.

"So in this bit here, see, the answer is actually..." Pansy glanced up at her friend to see him staring blankly at the kitchen door, not paying the slightest bit of attention to her. Heaving a sigh, she reached over and forcibly grabbed and pulled Draco's head to face towards her.

"Pansy!" Draco yelled, wrenching away and glaring daggers at her.

"Draco," she retorted. Cracking her knuckles, she leaned back and looked at him expectantly. "Come now darling, out with it."

"With what?" Draco said sullenly, his gaze sliding away.

"You know very well what. Whatever's making you behave like a restless child."

Draco drew himself up, managing to somehow look haughty and miserable at the same time. "I've just found out not five days ago that my mother was tortured into insanity by a _lackey _of the man that I would have gladly followed my father into the service of was I still fifteen, Pansy."

Pansy's expression softened, and she exhaled slowly. "I know, Draco," she said quietly. "But there's something else bothering you, I can tell."

Draco's face twisted as though he was tasting something highly unpleasant. Pansy waited patiently, and sure enough, Draco eventually 'fessed up. "It's Potter," he said grudgingly.

"What about him?" Pansy didn't really approve of Draco living with Potter after he'd found out about his mother – she believed Draco needed someone who could handle him better, who knew everything about what he'd been like when he'd first found out about his mother. Pansy Parkinson, namely.

"He's been..." Draco trailed off, looking mortified, before finally muttering "..._nice,_" as though the word itself was abominable to him.

Pansy arched an eyebrow. "Nice in what way?"

"Just..._nice._ It's not like I've been crying into his shoulder or anything, but after I found out he agreed to come with me to see her, and..."

"Wait a minute, back up," Pansy interrupted. "You went to _see _her? When?"

"Sunday."

_Smooth move, Potter, _Pansy thought furiously. Draco had reacted badly enough to seeing his mother some two years after the torture, and here Potter had taken him to see her one day after finding out the same bit of information?

"I'll kill him," she said aloud through gritted teeth. "He is a dead man."

"What?" alarmed, Draco waved his hands. "No, no, don't blame Potter. I wanted to see her. I asked him to come with me. He was almost more reluctant than I was."

Pansy snorted disbelievingly, but Draco seemed earnest now. "No, really. I probably saw her earlier than I should have, and that's for me to deal with, but don't go blaming Potter."

"Why, because he's been so _nice?_" Pansy said sarcastically.

"Well..." Draco looked mortified again, and he closed his eyes and murmured, "...yes."

Pansy was bemused by this behaviour, even more so when Draco rushed on, "Like I said, he hasn't been...I mean, it's not like...he's just really supportive. Granger said he would be, and the last two days, she's been right."

"You took advice from Granger?" Pansy said, baffled. "Merlin, it took years last time for you to come to any kind of understanding with _Weasley, _let alone Granger of all people. Since when do you take advice from Granger?"

"That's just it!" Draco said, frustrated. "_Last time _this and last time that. I know that this whole thing with my mother was what brought me over to the goody goody side _last time, _and that _last time _it was what helped me become such extremely good friends with Potter. But it...I mean...it doesn't HAVE to turn out like last time, does it?" he pleaded. "Yes, Potter is ridiculously supportive, and a wonderful friend to everyone he _cares about, _like everyone keeps emphasising to me that he does, and he's great at helping to take my mind off things coz he can be funny when he wants to be..."

"And he's nice?" Pansy supplied helpfully.

"_Exactly,_" Draco hissed.

Pansy looked carefully at her friend, the glinting eyes, the raised colour in his cheeks, and nearly wanted to laugh. Draco and Potter just clearly couldn't help themselves, could they? No matter what happened between them, even if one of them had had his entire memory of their relationship erased, they just got drawn back together, like magnets. Oh, Draco wasn't aware of it yet, she mused, didn't realise the inevitable slide he'd stepped back onto. The point was, and Pansy could admit it readily enough, Draco and Potter were so _right _together. And Potter had never excelled at anything more than being a wonderful boyfriend to Draco. Hell, in general, and it was galling to admit, Potter was a wonderful person. Brave, loyal, supportive, loving...everything Draco needed.

And by the looks of things, this knowledge was just starting to dawn on Draco, just the same as it had back in fifth year when the boys had slowly fallen in love.

These realisations took only the space of a few seconds to occur. Smiling, Pansy said pleasantly, "Draco darling, is it really that bad if you become friends with Potter?"

Draco sputtered. "I...you don't...it's not right, Pansy!" he said emphatically. "Not everything has to be the same as _last time. _And a nice Potter, is, is...it's disconcerting is what it is!"

Pansy continued to smile. "But last time, when Potter was being nice to you, it was the happiest I'd ever seen you."

"So?" Draco shot back. "Maybe I'm completely different to that Draco, maybe this whole thing was a blessing in disguise and it's my chance to change my life and become who I should've been, _without _the presence of Potter."

Pansy's genial mood evaporated in an instant, leaning forward with a dangerous glint in her eye. "What happened could never be described as a blessing in disguise," she near growled. "That 'whole thing' nearly killed you and took my best friend from me, repressed and eliminated the person you spent four years becoming, devastated your friends, and yes that _does _include Potter. You do have a chance to start over, sure, but believe me when I say Draco that you'd be stupid to remove Potter from your life. You need each other."

Draco glared at her and then looked away, muttering something.

"What was that?"

"Granger said that exact same thing," Draco murmured. "That we need each other."

Pansy laughed aloud despite herself. "Never thought I'd see the day when Granger and I would agree on anything." Sobering, she looked seriously at her best friend. "Really, Draco, I know part of you still sees Potter as your arch rival or whatever, but don't be so boring. You're nineteen, not fifteen, and you're not in rival houses at school, you're living together. Grow up, for Merlin's sakes, and if Potter being so nice to you freaks you out, get over it. You have a lot of healing to do, and Merlin knows Potter helped you heal last time, and that he can help you again."

Draco was quiet for several moments, seeming to absorb what she said, before he raised his head. Pansy was relieved to see some of the spark back in his eyes. "Thanks Pans," he said, almost too softly to be heard. A few seconds of comfortable silence passed before Draco cleared his throat and leaned forwards. "Alright then," he drawled loudly, "show me where I apparently went so wrong with my answers."

He still had a lot to go through and a lot to deal with, thought Pansy, but it was gratifying to see at least some of the old Draco in the boy sitting across from her.

--

When Harry arrived home to the apartment that night, he found Draco doing his, for lack of a better word, schoolwork in the lounge room. Harry paused on the threshold of the room and watched the blonde intently pouring over a complicated looking number chart. Since their conversations on Monday Harry had been startled to find Draco opening up, of sorts, to him. He suspected the work of Hermione behind the slight change in attitude but that didn't mean he wasn't grateful for it.

They'd had a few good talks, nothing earth-shattering in terms of the redevelopment of the bond that had been so deep between them before Animus, but certainly remarkable considering how withdrawn and icy Draco had been on Sunday afternoon. Draco had haltingly spoken of his mother, mostly the way he remembered her and his difficulty in reconciling his own mental images of her with the woman she'd become in the hospital ward. Harry had simply listened, sensing it was an important part of the grieving process for Draco to just be able to talk.

There was just one thing that bothered him, though. There had been times during these discussions, when they'd been at the table or on the lounge or whatever, and Draco would be getting very sombre and in-depth with what he was talking about...and then Harry would do something, like unthinkingly touch Draco's arm in sympathy, or their eyes would meet and hold for one moment too long, and suddenly a barrier would get thrown up between them. Harry could feel Draco pulling away, withdrawing, freaking out.

Harry thought he knew why that was happening. It was hard for Draco to reconcile the fifteen year old hated rival with a nineteen year old friend. Hurt as much as it did to admit, Harry suspected Draco was resisting the notion of becoming friends again, the way he'd heard they had become friends back in fifth year. Harry knew Draco too well not to deduce that Draco's stubbornness was pushing him to actively oppose being too chummy when things got too deep for him.

"Hey Draco," Harry greeted the blonde as nonchalantly as he could, stepping into the lounge room as though he'd just arrived. "Did you have a good day?"

There was another development since the weekend, again not earth shattering but substantial enough – Harry had fallen back into the habit of calling Draco by his first name, dropping the surnames-only act that had become so tiresome. And in turn, Draco had developed a habit of not trying to revert things back to being exclusively on a surname basis. Harry was still 'Potter' to Draco, but he no longer maintained that Harry should only call him 'Malfoy.' So there was that, at least.

Draco made a little distracted noise in his throat, a noise Harry correctly interpreted to mean he was concentrating. Harry sauntered further into the room and flopped onto one of the smaller lounge seats nearby the main lounge. "I had an interesting day," he continued genially. "I found out the date of Lucia Hevelle's trial."

"That's nice, Potter," Draco muttered, now scribbling something on a sheet of parchment. Seconds later he froze before his head snapped up, eyes now alert and focusing entirely on Harry. "Wait, what did you say?"

"July 15th," Harry said solemnly, knowing the issue was very important. "Two weeks from today. Lucia Hevelle's trial. And the Head of Department himself asked if we would like to be present."

"And what did you say?" Draco demanded.

"I accepted, of course." A hard glint entered Harry's green eyes. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Seeing the suddenly anxious expression on Draco's face, Harry hastened to add, "You won't be required to testify. Ridgeworth is one of the few people wholly aware of your...condition, and wouldn't dare put such strain on you. We'd just be there to watch."

Draco's face darkened, Harry easily recognising the desire for revenge etched across his features. "Good," he said simply. "That's all I want to do. Watch the bitch who tried to kill me get convicted." His eyes sharpened and focused suddenly on Harry. "What do you think the sentence will be?"

Harry thought seriously for a few moments. "I'm not sure. An actual murder, a particularly heinous one at that, gets the Dementor's Kiss, but as it's an attempted murder..." he chewed his lip thoughtfully. "I'd happily see her burn like back in the old witch-hunting days for what she did to you, but the Wizengamot won't be as biased as me. She'll probably get life-imprisonment."

There Potter went again, Draco thought as his stomach blazed with warmth from the words, showcasing his Gryffindor fire and conviction in defence of the people he cared about. Much as he still found it hard to believe, he was amongst that number of people now, one of the ones Potter defended and cared about and...loved, (like a friend, he mentally reminded himself from Granger's words, like a friend,) rather than one of the people Potter defended people against. It was just so strange, this upside-down world he'd stepped into. Strange, but somehow...pleasant. Comforting. It was somewhat soothing having Potter with him instead of against him. Helping him rather than fighting against him. Caring about him rather than...not caring about him.

Harry was glancing at his watch now. "I better get dinner started, I think," he said, and hopped to his feet. "I'll call you in when it's ready." He peeked at the number chart spread out on the coffee table. "Arithmancy coming along okay?" he asked vaguely.

Draco slid an amused, disparaging look upwards through his eyelashes. "Don't even try to feign an interest in what you don't understand, Potter," he drawled teasingly.

Harry laughed freely, feeling ridiculously buoyed by the exchange. "I still know more than you, Draco," he said in a sing-song voice over his shoulder as he left the room.

--

Half an hour later in the middle of dinner, Harry was silently watching Draco multi task, reading an Astronomy textbook as he ate dinner. Draco's coping method of throwing himself into schoolwork was still in full force, but there were some things where you had to draw the line. Harry knew that the next day, Thursday, was a day Draco was meant to have off from tutelage, and it was with this thought in mind that Harry cleared his throat.

"Draco?"

"Mmm?" Draco murmured back, his eyes on the textbook as he twisted spaghetti round and round on his fork.

Harry reached over and tugged the textbook away. Draco emitted an indignant yelp, reaching to grab it back but just too late to quite reach it.

"Potter!" he said angrily. "Give me back my textbook!"

"I have a proposition," Harry went on calmly as those nothing had happened. "See, I've been thinking...I think we need a break."

Draco merely raised an eyebrow, and Harry ploughed on. "Everything has been worry and anxiety and pain since...since...well, you know."

"Since Lucia Hevelle attempted to shuffle me off the mortal coil?" Draco supplied dryly.

"Well...yeah, something like that. The point is, you've been dealing with a lot of big issues and serious problems, and going through so much and focusing all on your schoolwork, and I think we just need a break."

Draco continued to merely stare at him, and suddenly Harry was feeling very stupid. "It's just a thought," he mumbled. "I mean, I just thought that tomorrow's your rest day from tutoring, and I could take the day off work, and maybe we could do something...fun."

_Lame lame lame, _Harry berated himself silently.

"Fun," Draco echoed.

"Yeah...fun. Whatever you want to do. Wherever you want to go. We can wear glamours to avoid getting mobbed by the Prophet if you want to go out, or we could stay here and...I dunno, play Exploding Snap or Wizards Chess, or..."

"Great Merlin, Potter, you still consider Exploding Snap to be fun?" Draco goaded, laughing. "I got bored of _that _inane activity by third year."

"Forget it," Harry muttered, now thoroughly humiliated, his cheeks burning. "It was just a thought."

Draco watched Harry turn back to his dinner, cheeks tinted dark red, the whole embarrassment thing going down very well with his tanned skin and vivid eyes, and felt his stomach twist uncomfortably. Potter, stupid git he was sometimes, was only trying to maintain the whole 'nice' thing he had going on and in truth, the thought of spending a day of fun with Harry had started ringing alarm bells about friendship and togetherness and bonding.

_Ah, to hell with it, _Draco decided, and reached across to lightly touch Harry's shoulder. "Potter?"

"What?" Harry muttered, refusing to meet Draco's gaze.

"I'm..." and here Draco gritted his teeth, "I'm sorry for being a git just now. You're right, a break from things would be good."

Harry looked up immediately. "Did you just apologise to me?" he said, bewildered.

Now it was Draco's turn to be embarrassed. "Don't expect it to be a regular occurrence," he mumbled.

Harry blinked once, and then beamed. The sheer brightness of Harry's features when he was happy was somehow...disconcerting for Draco to look at, to take in the shining green eyes and smiling, soft mouth, and it was all he could do not to look away. "Well, great!" Harry said enthusiastically, hesitance gone. "What would you like to do?"

Draco silently mulled over several options before the perfect, albeit slight embarrassing, one occurred to him. "I've kind of been missing Hogsmeade," he admitted reluctantly.

Harry literally clapped his hands together in happiness, his eyes sparkling. "Hogsmeade it is then!" he said. "We'll apparate there tomorrow morning and then spend the whole day there."

"Unless you don't want to," Draco said hastily.

Harry's face, lit with excitement, settled into a serious expression as he reached across the table to rest a hand lightly on Draco's pale arm. "Of course I want to," he said sincerely. "Anything for you, whatever you want to do."

They stayed like that for a moment, Harry's hand on Draco's arm and his eyes just dripping with his sincerity, Draco frozen like a deer in headlights under the warmth of that gaze and the heat of Harry's slightly calloused palm on his skin.

Harry smiled and squeezed lightly before hopping up and taking his plate to the kitchen bench. "I'll go Owl my superior now and get the time off," he said with a grin, setting the plate down and then heading towards the kitchen door. "Reheat your dinner if it's gone cold."

Draco was left alone with his now cooled bowl of pasta, the warm imprint of Harry's skin on his arm and a hot, churning feeling in his stomach at the thought of tomorrow.

_TBC _

**AN: I've been remarkably out of character and have actually planned exactly what will happen in the next chapter. Not only that, the first part of it is already written, because it was originally part of this chapter. Oh happy day! As for what will happen...well, let's just say I think my dear reviewers will rather enjoy chapter 11 ;)**

**Aaaand, I have figured out the ending to this story. I just need to come up with the all the other stuff in the middle that will need to happen in order to reach that ending. Gah.**

**Please review! It will only incite me to deliver what's going to happen in Hogsmeade to you all. In the words of the Chemical Brothers, 'Push the button...'**

**Until next time, **

**bleedingxheart**


	11. The Break Day

**AN: Thanks to the reviewers! I really appreciate it.**

**Well, I promised a good chapter and dammit if this isn't a chapter when Stuff Happens. I sincerely hope you guys enjoy it.**

Chapter Eleven: The Break Day

_**Thursday 2**__**nd**__** July, 10:00am**_

What Draco had already termed in his head as Break Day, important enough to earn capitalisation, dawned. When he walked out of the bedroom it was to find Harry at the bathroom mirror across the hall, already dressed and carefully performing glamours to alter his appearance. Harry turned his head to greet him and Draco was startled to see that those vivid almond-shaped green eyes had been changed into nondescript brown ones, in an effect that was...unsettling.

"Morning," Harry said. "I shouldn't be too long with these; I'll do yours once you're ready. Human transfiguration isn't covered until sixth year, so Snape wouldn't have taught you this yet." Seeing Draco's stunned expression, Harry's brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"

"I..." Potter without those eyes was like seeing someone walking around without a head. It was unnatural, and now that they were gone Draco, stupidly, missed seeing them. He shook his head. "Nothing," he said quickly. "Just...you already look so different."

"That's kind of the point, Draco," Harry said good-naturedly, turning his attention back to the mirror. "I don't want anyone to recognise us and spoil this day."

Draco remained where he was, watching as Harry lengthened his nose, and then widened his jawline. When his wand went towards his head full of inky black, messy hair though, Draco couldn't restrain himself from shouting "NO!"

Startled, Harry turned towards Draco, silently asking for an explanation for his behaviour. "It's just...you have nice hair," Draco mumbled, completely mortified, and promptly turned and fled for the refuge of the kitchen.

Harry thoughtfully watched him go, pleased at the compliment but unsure what to make of it. Before the incident Draco had always loved Harry's hair, and frequently took great pleasure in running his hands through it even when they weren't in bed together.

_Don't be silly, _Harry scoffed at himself, trying to crush the hope that had fluttered to life in his chest as he turned back towards the mirror. _That was then, this is now. Just because you got together back in fifth year doesn't mean you will now. For all you know, the thing at Animus turned him straight._

In the kitchen, Draco was organising himself a bowl of cereal and desperately trying not to freak out. _Today's meant to be a relaxing day, _he told himself. _A fun day. Doing something stupid like admitting to Potter that you think his hair is nice is not relaxing at all._

Ten minutes later when Harry entered the kitchen, Draco was still mentally kicking himself for saying something stupid and determinedly not examining why he'd said it. Yes, Potter's hair was nice, but that wasn't the only thing nice about Potter...

_Bad road, Draco, _he reprimanded himself, and then jumped to see Potter leaning against the bench. Except it didn't really look like Potter. The black mess of hair was now mouse brown, boringly styled and unremarkable in every way. It seemed like every aspect of Potter's face had been changed, from the obscuring of his scar right down to the miniscule details of his cheekbones, his mouth, his teeth even. He seemed notably shorter and while not overweight, the streamlined leanness of his build was gone.

Intellectually Draco knew it was Potter standing in the kitchen, but his eyes were telling him otherwise.

It was dismaying, but very impressive.

"Nice job there, Potter," Draco said as casually as he could, standing to deposit his bowl into the dishwasher. "You look like a completely different person."

"Thanks," Harry said evenly. "Let me know when you're dressed, and then I'll do yours."

It took some time but eventually they were fully glamoured and ready to go. Draco's short, silky blonde hair was now shoulder-length and auburn, his telltale Malfoy alabaster complexion darkened several shades, the refined, aristocratic features of his face broadened, his distinctive sharp jawline softened, his grey eyes now deep blue.

Weirdly enough, once Potter was finished with him he stood still for a moment, taking in what he had just created and looking inordinately sad and wistful.

"What's the problem, Potter?" Draco demanded.

"Huh? Oh, nothing," Harry murmured, tucking his wand away into the sleeve of his robes and avoiding Draco's eyes. "I just prefer you the way you usually look."

Draco blinked. _Does he mean...? _

"Anyway," Harry said, suddenly overloud and falsely jovial, "I'll have to re-apply the glamours every four hours or so, otherwise they'll disappear." He checked his watch. "We should get going." He looked back up, seeming shy all of a sudden as he offered an arm to Draco for the Apparation. "Ready?"

Draco swallowed, feeling a sudden sense of foreboding. "Yep." He slipped his arm through Harry's, and got a brief sense of the body warmth emitting from the other boy before Harry twisted away from him and Draco was being dragged along for the ride.

--

They arrived on the side of the roughly-hewn road which had been leading Hogwarts students to the wizarding village for generations. Draco could see the houses and chimneys and the occasional witch or wizard milling amongst the shops. It was mid morning, before the lunchtime rush, so they wouldn't have to navigate through any large crowds.

The sight of Hogsmeade evoked a rush of school memories, and Draco almost wanted to cry with joy because here at last was something he could actually remember, something he didn't need Potter or Granger or Pansy to tell him. _Memories. _And he began babbling, somehow anxious to prove himself to Potter, like a child saying _see, see, I do remember something!_

"I remember Pansy and I tried to sneak down here at the end of fourth year. We had this elaborate plan to get Madam Rosmerta to serve us Firewhiskey, and we'd come back to Slytherin and be hailed as kings."

Harry looked over at Draco and saw with astonishment an expression of contentment on his face, his eyes lit up in joy, and he understood immediately it was from the joy of remembering. He smiled fondly at Draco and encouraged him, "And then what happened?"

They started walking towards Hogsmeade, Draco talking with relish about their harebrained scheme to get to the village and how they avoided being caught by Filch no less than three times before finally being forced to bow the inevitable.

"He dragged us back to the school to serve detention on the spot," Draco said fondly as they passed the first of the buildings of the village. "We got back to Slytherin not as heroes but as laughing stocks for actually being caught."

Harry laughed, although in truth he had heard that story before, but for the amount of joy this was bringing Draco he would rather have cut off his arm than admit to that.

They walked along in silence for a few moments, each glancing around and taking in the current-day Hogsmeade. During the War, the village had been the site of several significant clashes between the Order and the Death Eaters. Numerous homes had been severely damaged, many more completely destroyed. The village Post Office had been among the popular destinations for Hogwarts students which had suffered in the battles. In the months since the defeat of Voldemort, however, the wizarding world had been rallying behind places like Hogsmeade which had been devastated by the conflict. Slowly, the village had gotten back on its feet, and some three months later the damage to the buildings had been significantly reduced.

Maybe he would talk about that to Draco another day, Harry mused. Today was meant to be a day to forget the serious things, to think about the good and enjoy themselves and have fun.

"Where do you want to go first?" Harry asked.

"Honeydukes," Draco said immediately.

They directed their steps towards the sweet shop. Inside, the warm scent of freshly made chocolate enveloped them, the shelves groaning under the weight of every candy imaginable. Draco's face lit up like a Christmas tree, and he immediately commenced to moving from shelf to shelf exclaiming over various items.

Harry watched him affectionately for a moment before making a beeline to the Chocolate Cauldrons, which had been Draco's favourite sweet for as long as he'd known him. Waiting until Draco was at the opposite end of the store to the counter, Harry quickly purchased a bag of them and then headed to where Draco was examining the Sugar Quills.

"Midway through third year I went through three of these a day," he said to Harry as Harry approached. "They became very addictive...and very bad for my teeth. Took several weeks of dental restorative charms to get them back to normal."

Harry laughed appreciatively. "Dean Thomas from my year had a similar thing, except he went through it much later, in like sixth year or something."

"Typical Gryffindor," Draco snorted, but he was smiling.

_How to do this without coming off like a total obsessed stalker, _Harry wondered, reflexively gripping the bag of Chocolate Cauldrons.

"Ah, Draco?" he said nervously. When Draco turned towards him, he awkwardly stuck out his hand, holding the bag between them. "I, um, got you something."

Draco looked at the bag, cheerfully stamped with the Honeydukes logo, then at Harry, then back again. "You got me something?" he repeated. "How? When? We've only been here for like ten minutes."

"Er, I have my ways," Harry said lamely.

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "Alright then. Thanks." He accepted the bag, tugged it open and peered inside. "Chocolate Cauldrons!" he exclaimed gleefully, reaching in at once to retrieve one and commence unwrapping it. "These are my absolute favourite! How did you...?" He trailed off and looked up at Harry, realisation slowly dawning across his face.

"These were always your favourite," Harry said carefully, "I remember how much you love them, and I just thought...it would be..."

"A nice thing to do?" Draco finished quietly. He looked back at the bag, and for a moment Harry envisioned the bag being thrown in his face for his presumption, Draco storming out, and the day being ruined. Draco did look up, and he seemed almost exasperated as he said, "You just can't help yourself can you, Potter?" but then he smiled, and his eyes, deep blue from the glamour, were sparkling. "Thanks."

--

From Honeydukes, Harry and Draco went on to the Hogsmeade branch of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, which Fred and George had opened following the end of the War. The twins weren't there as they lived above the original Diagon Alley branch and personally oversaw the running of the business there, but Harry was pleasantly surprised to see Lee Jordan, still dreadlocked and the appointed Manager of the Hogsmeade branch.

Of course, with the glamours it was quite impossible to just go up to Lee and strike up a conversation as old friends, Lee wouldn't recognise him, but it was still comforting to see an old friend who had survived the war and was doing well for himself.

He and Draco didn't purchase anything from the store, having no real need for practical joke items when they weren't at school anymore. Emerging out into the sunlight, Draco eyes lighted upon the one place in Hogsmeade, besides Honeydukes, he'd always loved the best.

Gladrags Wizardwear.

Seeing Draco's face light up, Harry followed his gaze and smiled wryly when his eye fell upon the clothing store further down the street. "I thought the closet was full enough as it is," he remarked.

Draco shot him a derisive look. "How can you not know that when one closet is full, it's a sign for you to start filling up another?" he said primly. "One can never have enough clothes." But Draco was smiling, and Harry grinned as well.

"I'll take your word for it," he said amusedly. "But I can guess where we're headed next."

Once inside Gladrags, Draco began to act like a Cornish Pixie on speed, zipping around to every rack and back again, chattering animatedly with the pretty blonde shop assistant.

Harry lurked as inconspicuously as he could near a table covered in socks in the corner. Clothes shopping had always been Draco's thing, not his. For the time they were going out, Harry had always just let Draco choose his clothes, finding it far easier to trust the blonde's fashion sense. He felt warm with affection watching Draco earnestly debate the merits of silk versus satin with the shop assistant, waving his arms when he was making a particularly pressing point.

The day, Harry reflected, had been good so far. It was nice to be in an environment where there wasn't any pressure coming from who they were, or what had happened at Animus. The walls that Draco had put up after seeing his mother were weakening, and it almost felt like they'd gone back in time, to the days when they had just been _together, _and happy for it. Of course, there was obviously a significant difference between then and now, being that however much Harry's heart and body still ached for Draco, he knew the feeling wasn't returned.

For a good hour at least Draco gleefully shopped whilst Harry looked on. Finally it seemed to get to a point where Draco decided the massive pile of material strewn over the front counter would suffice, and he sought Harry out.

"Potter," he said quietly so that Melody the shop assistant wouldn't overhear and alert the media.

Harry glanced up from where he'd been idly examining a pile of scarves. "You done?"

"I'm done, yes." Draco's appraising eyes swept over Harry's outfit. "I don't think you are, though."

"What?" When Draco continued to frown at his clothes, Harry backed up several paces, his hands outstretched in a silent plea. "Oh no. No, no. I've got all the clothes I need, thank you, I do _not _need any more."

"But that cut of robe is so last season," Draco practically whined.

"And I so don't care," Harry shot back, crossing his arms defensively.

"But _Potter," _he hissed, "you said this would be a day of fun."

"Clothes shopping isn't fun."

"It is for me!"

Seeing the pleading expression on Draco's face, he capitulated, as he somehow knew he inevitably would. "Just a few things," he cautioned. "I don't want to go overboard."

Draco grinned sunnily, and seizing Harry's arm, tugged him towards the centre of the store and the all-too-willing attentions of Melody. "You won't regret it," he assured Harry before pushing him into a seat and commencing with another heated debate, this time over the relative pros and cons of wearing blue or green.

--

After another hour and a half spent inside Gladrags, Harry and Draco emerged with receipts for some twenty bags worth of purchases, all of which they'd arranged to be shrunk and delivered by owl to the apartment. The price of just one of Harry's outfits had made him slightly dizzy, let alone the thought of the five separate ensembles Draco had put together. But Draco had just handed over a satchel of Galleons like it was nothing.

Checking the time, Harry was alarmed to see that it was nearly four hours since they'd left the apartment, and thus it was high time for the glamours to be reapplied. Telling Draco as such, he hurried them both into the nearby public restrooms, which were thankfully deserted, and hastily re-did the spell work from before.

"Where to now, Potter?" Draco asked as they emerged back onto the street.

Harry's stomach was rumbling, so the answer was obvious enough. Insisting on buying lunch as a small repayment in return for the clothes, Harry led the way to Hog's Head. Still run by Aberforth Dumbledore, the pub had been cleaned up significantly following the general air of renovation that had swept the village following the war. The windows were no longer grimy, the floor no longer layered with dirt, although it was still considered inferior as a gathering spot to the Three Broomsticks, with some of the clientele being more on the seedy side for comfort. Regardless, the pair enjoyed themselves there, talking amiably while they waited for their meals.

Harry avoided the eye of the younger Dumbledore brother. He knew Aberforth wouldn't recognise him under the glamour, but the sight of those bright blue eyes so like his brothers' caused Harry a pang of sorrow for his deceased Headmaster, and Harry determinedly tried to focus his mind to more cheerful things.

By the time they'd finished lunch it was well past 3 o' clock in the afternoon, and despite the many joys of Hogsmeade, they were running out of things to do.

"Shrieking Shack?" Draco suggested half-heartedly.

Harry tensed, not wanting to let his own bad memories of the place spoil things. There wasn't much else to do in the village, and he'd wanted to stay for dinner at the Three Broomsticks at least...

"Sure," he said finally, faking a cheery smile.

They started walking, past all the cosy looking cottages and houses of the village, past the shops, heading towards the outskirts of Hogsmeade where the Shack was located. They leaned against the long fence which had been erected to keep curious locals from the supposedly haunted structure, not that any local residents needed incentive to stay away from the infamous building.

"I wonder if it's really haunted," Draco mused.

Harry stared across to the Shack and thought of Lupin, which, inevitably, lead him to think of Sirius.

"It isn't," he said flatly after a few quiet moments. "Remus Lupin used it every full moon for his transformations when he was at school. There was a tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow which leads straight to it. He was escorted there and back each time, so he wouldn't be a danger to anyone else."

"Oh yeah, the werewolf," Draco said vaguely. "Whatever happened to him?"

"He married your cousin, Nymphadora Tonks, the last year of school. They're expecting their first child by the end of the year."

'Huh." Draco seemed to digest this.

Harry forcibly pulled his thoughts away from the direction they were heading. Lupin and Tonks' wedding, just before graduation, with he and Sirius as best men. Just months later, Sirius was dead, killed in a skirmish battle between the Order and the Death Eaters before the real War began in earnest, and Tonks and Lupin separated in the chaos, forced into hiding for a month, not knowing if the other was okay or not.

_That's in the past,_ Harry said sternly to himself. _Nothing you can do to change it now. _But it kept coming, the trauma of the actual war itself, the endless battles, the curses, the screams, the wails of the bereaved, the bravery, the cowardice, the violence...

Then the memory that Harry was sure Draco had gone to Animus with, had suffered with for months in stubborn refusal to reach out for help even from his boyfriend. Draco raising his wand to his father to save Harry. Irrational guilt swept through him like a wave, crashing against his insides and gnawing at his brain. _If only, if only, if only. _If only he could've fought Lucius off himself, if only he had seen how much pain Draco had been in...

Seeing Harry's suddenly slumped posture and miserable expression, Draco turned to him questioningly. "Potter? You alright?"

"Y..." Harry cut himself off and reconsidered. "Not really," he said quietly, so quietly Draco could barely hear him.

"What's the matter?" Draco was truly facing him now, all concern.

"Just..." Harry sucked in a breath, feeling both stupid and angry with himself for ruining the peace of the day. "Just thinking about the War."

_And Animus. _It was the inevitable addition to every thought, dominating their interactions even now when they'd fled to Scotland to escape the memory.

Draco stayed still for several moments, and then surprisingly turned took Harry by the shoulders, forcing him to meet his eye. "Hey," he said, in as gentle a tone as he'd ever used. "I _am _sorry, Potter, if you miss...if you miss the me I was before. What I was to you. Really, I am. I wish I could..." he paused, thinking. "Well, I don't really wish I could be the exact same Draco as that. But I wish I could be someone who has those memories...of the things that happened at school, in the War."

"It's okay," Harry said quickly, but Draco was shaking his head, his expression solemn as he looked earnestly at Harry.

"It's not," he insisted. "Whatever was wrong with me that made me go to Animus, I just want to apologise for going there in the first place."

Harry felt punch-drunk. The warmth of Draco's palms on his shoulders, the proximity of him, the scent, the sincerity shining in his eyes...Harry longed to lean forward and kiss him, and found himself unable to respond to what Draco was actually saying.

"I'm sorry," Draco said.

_Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him..._

Harry swallowed hard and stepped back, turning to look at the Shrieking Shack in the distance, trying to cool the rapid heating of his blood and concentrate on what had just happened. He knew Draco had been resenting the idea of pre-Animus Draco, could easily guess that Harry's desperate sadness at no longer having his lover must've created some feelings of inadequacy in Draco. And here he was, apologising for what pre-Animus Draco had done, apologising for not _being _pre-Animus Draco.

For the first time, it seemed like something was salvageable between them. If not the romantic aspect, then at least perhaps a kind of friendship. It wasn't all that Harry wanted, but for now, he decided, it was enough.

"You didn't have to apologise," Harry said softly, glancing away from the Shack to Draco, who had been watching Harry and waiting anxiously for a response. Harry smiled. "Who you are...you're different to the Draco I knew. But I'm starting to realise...that isn't a bad thing."

Draco smiled shakily back, feeling almost like he wanted to gag on the sheer sweetness and sincerity of it all. He had meant what he'd said, of course, but when Harry came back with something like _that..._

Well, it was all very well and good to try and keep in mind what Pansy had said about them 'needing' each other, and '_if Potter being so nice to you freaks you out, get over it,'_ but it seemed like every time Draco turned around Potter would outdo himself, randomly presenting him with his favourite candy, laughing at Draco's jokes over lunch, getting nicer and nicer. For crying out loud, his body said nineteen year old, mature adult, but there was a part of his head that said fifteen year old adolescent who _hates _Potter. Admittedly yes, that part was getting less and less dominant with the more time he spent with Potter, but it was still _there. _

"Let's head back," he said loudly, resolutely turning his back on the Shack and the strange exchange that had just taken place. "This place still gives me the creeps."

Harry fell into step beside Draco as they began to head back towards the village. He wasn't sure exactly what was going through Draco's head now, but he felt like the moment needed a subject change. Desperately. So he resorted to one of the few things he'd seen make post-Animus Draco happy. Remembering.

"Remember in third year," He said, "when you stumbled upon Ron and Hermione here, and I was throwing things at you and you tripped over my Cloak and all you could see was my head?"

Draco shot him a look from the corner of his eye, but he was smiling slightly. "I'll have you know I had nightmares for several weeks afterwards about that," he said haughtily. "It wasn't something to be laughed at, the trauma that came from seeing your floating head appear out of nowhere."

"Oh but it was," Harry grinned. "I will treasure the expression on your face until the day I die."

Their footsteps echoed on the ground as they continued walking towards the village, bantering playfully, the serious mood they'd so recently been in the thralls of momentarily forgotten.

--

_**Azkaban Prison**_

The Department representative sent by Ridgeworth came hurrying out from the cell ward Lucia was imprisoned within, far too pale, a spooked expression on his face.

The Ministry of Magic official who had accompanied him on the mission was standing and waiting for him. Taking in his appearance, she quirked an eyebrow silently in question. "Well?" she probed. "Did she make any statement?"

"No," the representative said unsteadily. "She's..." he seemed to hesitate. "She's going steadily downhill, I think. I recorded the whole...exchange, because it wasn't really a conversation."

"What happened?"

"I did what Ridgeworth instructed, introduced myself, said it was my duty to inform her that an official date had been set for her trial, that she would be trialled by the Wizengamot, that most unfortunately since the withdrawal of Joseph Valorius from the case she has no legal representation although the Ministry will provide one if she so requests it, et cetera..."

He swallowed thickly, recalling her emaciated state, the crazed look in her eyes, the way her gaze had drifted off to the side every now and then as he had spoken, as though she was listening intently to something he couldn't hear. "I said every bit of the statement Ridgeworth dictated. And when I was done, do you know what she did?"

"What?"

"Looked me right in the eye, and laughed."

--

_**The Three Broomsticks, 6:00pm**_

By that evening, Harry and Draco were crowded together in a small booth for dinner in Hogsmeade's favourite pub, sharing the contents of a sizeable bowl of pasta and cheerfully reminiscing about the school years and incidents Draco could remember.

"It wasn't _my _idea to dress up as a Dementor, you know," Draco insisted, waving a forkful of pasta to emphasise his point. "It was that idiot Marcus Flint, he was thick enough to believe it would work. I went along with it because I was desperate to embarrass you."

Harry laughed delightedly. "Ended up having the opposite effect though," he pointed out. "As I recall you were on the ground, struggling to get out of those robes."

Draco merely rolled his eyes, although his cheeks did tinge slightly pink from the memory. "Well, I guess I should've known better than to try and cross the great Harry Potter," he drawled, but his eyes were shining.

Harry laughed again and took a bite of his pasta. Chewing slowly, he looked around the teeming pub, feeling a warm glow of happiness flaring in his chest. To be back in this familiar, beloved place, joking around with Draco as though the War, Animus, hadn't even happened...this day was a fantastic idea, he decided, looking across to Draco and smiling again.

"Oui, bonjour, I had a six o'clock reservation for Evander Mauvais, s'il vous plait."

Their booth was right near the door, and Harry barely thought anything at first of the quiet, heavily accented voice coming from the counter metres away as two more patrons entered the pub.

The waitress whose duty it was to greet guests and guide them to their tables murmured, "Ah yes, Evander Mauvais, a table over by the window. Right this way, Monsieur Mauvais."

_I've heard that name before,_ Harry pondered, idly watching the man whom the waitress had addressed gesture to someone behind him. He was tall and broad shouldered, dressed suavely in colours which subtly highlighted the chestnut shade of his long hair, which tumbled over his shoulders and shone in the light of the candles scattered around the room. There was a certain hard quality to his facial features which rendered them sharp and unyielding and took away any of the handsomeness that could've existed in his face.

The person with him was another man, by contrast almost paralysing in his handsomeness, even taller than the first. He reminded Harry strongly of a conventionally attractive male model – chiselled features, square jaw, hair messed up just so.

He watched the pair as they moved past the booth where he and Draco sat, heading towards a table perpendicular to them, beside a window as promised by the waitress.

And then it hit him.

"Evander Mauvais," Harry said aloud, perhaps a touch too noisily because the chestnut-haired man looked around sharply, just once for a tense moment, before his shoulders relaxed and he continued on his way.

"What's that, Potter?" Draco said.

"Evander Mauvais," Harry repeated, albeit more softly this time. "The waitress said his name when he came in and it seemed familiar. I think I remember now. He owns Animus, he was the founder of the company, and there was a statement or something from him in Saturday's Prophet in an article about Lucia's arrest." Harry frowned absently. "He spoke with an accent, I didn't realise he was French."

Draco whipped his head around, decorum forgotten in his curiosity. "Where is he?"

"By the window," Harry said. "With the bloke who looks like a model."

Draco's eyes lit upon the figure almost immediately. He was leaning forward, his eyes heavily lidded as he spoke to the model boy. As he watched, Evander reached out and stroked the back of his hand slowly down his companion's cheek.

"That guy owns the business that hired, and paid, the bitch who tried to kill me," Draco said thoughtfully, somehow unable to look away as Evander and Model Boy seemed to move closer and closer together. "I should go over there and threaten to sue his arse off."

"No, no," Harry said quickly, reaching out to lay a warning hand on Draco's arm. "Remember, you're in glamours, he won't know who you are. And besides," and now his voice took on a pleading tone, "today's been such a good day, let's not spoil it. I'm not saying you shouldn't sue him for something, or at least threaten to, but just...not now, Draco, please?"

Draco dragged his gaze away from the man to look at Harry, who had his eyebrows raised, his expression silently pleading. In any other world Draco would've told Harry to go to hell, but this was a strange world, the one he'd woken up to, and loath as he was to admit it, he had had a good day in Hogsmeade with Potter. A day away from everything had been exactly what he'd needed. He felt very tired all of a sudden, melancholic at the thought that he could go to a different country and still have reminders of bleeding _Animus, _even if it was just the owner of the place.

"Fine," Draco sighed dramatically, taking up his fork once more. "Just because it's Break Day, Potter."

They finished the rest of their meal, their conversation resuming its nostalgic tone. But Draco couldn't help glancing over at the pair by the window. By the time it was nearing half past six and almost time to leave, Draco looked over once more only to see Evander now engaging in a full out snog with Model Boy.

Draco watched them for a moment, feeling a strange twinge in his stomach at the sight. Huh. It seemed...odd, that the Animus owner seemed to be gay. And very into that kind of thing, by the looks of it.

He heard a small sigh beside him, and looked up to see that Harry was watching the couple too, looking almost wistful. "He seems to be coping," Harry said, his wry tone at complete odds with his expression. He coughed and glanced down at his watch. "We have to go in a few minutes. You wait near the door, I just need to duck to the bathroom and then settle the bill. We'll Apparate home outside."

They stood up, Harry disappearing in the crowd, heading for the bathroom, Draco taking the few steps necessary to stand beside the counter near the front door to the pub. He idly drummed his fingers against the wood, humming a random tune, his gaze drawn like a magnet back to the pair by the window. They were still making out over the tabletop, and there was something definitely indecent about the way Evander was touching Model Boy.

Draco felt a twinge, the slightest twinge, of arousal and hurriedly tore his gaze away. _You are still a teenage boy, _he told himself, _it's perfectly normal, it's been awhile, you're just a little sexually frustrated, you may feel fifteen sometimes and that's why the slightest thing can turn you on..._but he couldn't shake the hollow, empty feeling of longing in his chest the sight had evoked in him. Evander's connection to Animus seemed to pale into insignificance now in the sudden wave of yearning he found himself enveloped in.

Desperate to distract himself, Draco made a show of studying the Daily Prophets lined up on the counter, awaiting any customers' perusal if so desired. His eyes, still a deep blue under the glamour, flicked carelessly across the pile, skimming the front pages. He wasn't really paying attention to what he was seeing, until his eyes caught upon a headline which made his blood run cold.

'_DRACO MALFOY SPOTTED AT ST MUNGO'S, ACCOMPANIED BY 'BOYFRIEND-WHO-LIVED'_

His gaze flicked disbelievingly to the date of the paper. Monday June 29th. He frantically read the front page article beneath the screaming headline. Then again. Once more for good measure. He felt shaky, unsteady on his feet, his stomach churning as certain phrases seemed to jump off the page at him.

'..._his long-term partner Mr Harry Potter... Eyewitnesses attest to the 'cosy' and 'intimate' manner between them...' _And then there was a picture, Harry seizing Draco's hand, murmuring something into his ear. And Draco in the picture, tilting his head towards Harry, leaning into him, following obediently after him into the sea of reporters.

Draco's hands gripped the edge of the bench, his teeth clenching as memories since the murder attempt flashed through his mind's eye in quick succession. He felt his heart clench in the memory of the single bed in the apartment, the horrified expressions on everyone's faces. Potter's bizarre reaction the first night in the apartment when Draco had said he hated him. Severus, the night he'd come to visit. '_Draco doesn't know about you, it seems.' _

And then the Thursday before, when Harry had insisted upon going to work in the morning and they'd had the big blow up argument. _'...we were just __friends,__ you big drama queen, stop pretending like me not wanting to be best friends with you anymore is killing you inside!'_

And Potter had retorted, _'It __is,__ and we were more than...'_

The slow, intimate gesture before he left for work, his hand gently stroking Draco's cheek.

Granger and Pansy. '_You need each other.'_

And every single bloody time, countless times it seemed, when someone had hesitated over, 'you were...extremely good friends with Harry.'

The clues piled up and up and until Draco felt like he was drowning in them where he stood, and he wanted to Avada Kedavra himself for being such an imbecile and not realising before. Yes, he had been suspicious, yes Potter had been acting strangely, but _this...?_

Fury unlike anything Draco had ever known boiled in his stomach, hot and uncontrollable. They had...Potter had...everyone had been lying to him, to his face, for a month? Not once had they thought he should bloody _know _that before Animus, he and Harry had been LOVERS?!

Oh, Potter was in for a world of pain.

His emotions churned, too complicated for him to want to examine them closely just yet. Shakily, he looked back over at Evander and Model Boy and imagined himself and Potter in that position, kissing passionately...

His stomach heaved and his heart constricted and he groaned aloud, burying his head into his hands on the counter. No. Best not to think about that. He seized like a drowning man upon a rope to the fury in his stomach, in his chest, and held on for dear life. They lied. Potter lied. He had been in an apartment with Potter for weeks now and no one thought to mention that before Animus they'd been sharing the apartment as partners!

He saw Potter now, threading through the tables and booths to the front door. Draco wanted to charge and tackle him, beat the snot out of him, make him comprehend what was going on inside him.

But it was a public place...Draco glanced around at the multitudes of people enjoying their dinner. His head cleared slightly, and an eerie calm settled over him. At home...no, not home anymore, Potter's apartment, because he was damned if he'd be sharing that place with Potter any longer.

Potter smiled at him, his eyes shining, and Draco saw it now, saw the emotion he'd been struggling to figure out in those eyes. Love beamed at him, and he wanted to shield himself. A fresh tidal wave of anger washed over him. How he could presume...how he dared...

Harry's brow furrowed as he took in Draco's appearance. He had gone deathly pale, and there was a wild quality in his eyes, a perceptible tension and pressure in his posture, the tightness of his shoulders. Something was wrong.

"Draco?" he said gently as he reached the front counter, his eyes full of concern. "You okay?"

Draco spoke through gritted teeth. "Just pay the bill and let's go, Potter."

Heart hammering, wondering what he'd done wrong, Harry did so, paying the waitress at the cash register with a generous tip. The pair exited outside and Harry cautiously offered his arm to Draco for the Disapparation. Draco stared at him coldly for a moment before reaching out and seizing his arm, holding it uncomfortably hard in a vice-like grip.

They turned and span into the rubber tube sensation now familiar to Draco, and in moments found themselves standing beside their building. They went up to the apartment in silence, Draco fuming, turning everything over in his head and getting angrier and angrier, Harry following, bewildered, in his wake.

Once they were inside, the second the door was closed and locked, Draco rounded on Harry.

"Potter!" he screamed, quite beyond himself. He jabbed Harry in the chest with a finger.

"W-what, Draco?" Harry stammered, taken aback.

"DON'T...CALL...ME...DRACO, YOU BLOODY LIAR!" Draco shrieked. "How long did you think you could keep it a secret from me, huh? Tell me! How much longer would it have been until you told me?"

"Told you what?" Harry said weakly, but he already knew.

"That you...that we..." Draco was gesturing between them, his face contorted with rage. "That we were fucking _lovers _before I went to Animus! Boyfriends! _Long-term partners!_ I saw that fucking Prophet article from Monday, our status splashed across the front page as casual as could be, and _no-one bothered to tell me?"_

It was past the time for their glamours, and the appearances they had adapted for Hogsmeade were rapidly shaping into their usual features. Draco saw Harry's eyes shift, become almond-shaped and bright emerald green once more, the scar slowly reappear on his forehead, his hair lengthening, darkening, getting messier. Knew his own skin was growing paler, his hair returning to ice-blonde, his eyes resuming their usual shade of grey.

Well, good. They should have this argument as themselves, not some glamoured strangers.

"Draco," Harry pleaded now, earnestly, "We were going to tell you, I swear. Honestly! I wanted you to know more than anything else, but when you woke up and you hated me all over again, I couldn't do it. Having you back with me, even hating me, was and still is better than being apart from you. I love you so much, and..."

"Shut UP, Potter!" Draco roared, wanting to throttle Potter for saying that, wanting to throttle himself for his heart skipping a beat. He turned away, clenching his fists and breathing heavily through his nose, before whirling back around. "The bed!" he yelled. "Bullshit that you were sleeping on the lounge, we slept together in there, didn't we? And all that crap about becoming 'extremely good friends' after my mother was tortured! We started going out in school, didn't we?" When Potter said nothing, he stepped closer. "I said, DIDN'T WE?"

"Yes, yes," Harry cried, "towards the end of fifth year, but we did become friends first, it just developed into something more!"

"Liars," Draco hissed, "you and your little friends, Merlin, even my fucking friends! Blaise and Pansy! All liars! And I thought you not telling me about my mother was bad, Potter..." his eyes sharpened. "That first day, when you said you had a girlfriend, you lied then too didn't you? Your fucking 'girlfriend' was me all along!"

"Draco, please..."

"Have you wanted me back all this time, Potter?" Draco sneered. "Have you been crying yourself to sleep, wishing I hadn't gone to Animus and woken up to myself? Hell, I'm _glad _Lucia Hevelle wanted to kill me! She gave me another chance, a chance at a life as something other than Harry fucking Potter's boyfriend!"

Harry was crying, tears streaming slowly down his cheeks. "You were writing our story," he shouted. "That novel I said you were in the middle of writing, it was about us! You wanted to write our story down for the world, you told me you wanted to share our love with everyone! You were in LOVE with me, Draco, we were so happy, of course you wouldn't believe it, how could I have told you that? Don't go saying you didn't enjoying it, you don't remember, you can't know what it was like! You loved me every bit as much as I loved and adored you!"

Draco attempted to sneer but the tidal wave of feelings which had been building steadily inside him was threatening to drown him, he just wanted to scream and scream at Potter until it all went away. The idea of him and Potter, in love...

"I still do, Merlin help me!" Potter burst out, moving swiftly forward so they were inches apart. "I love you Draco, love you, love you so much, I still want you, still _need _you..."

The word made him stiffen, made him think of Pansy and Granger. '_You need each other.'_

"Well, I don't need you!" Draco roared into Potter's face. "I _don't _need you, I _don't _love you, I _don't _want you and guess what, Potter? I NEVER WILL! So you can just let go right now of any ideas you were entertaining that I would _ever _fall back in love with you...!"

Each shouted word was like a tiny knife drilling into his heart. Harry felt himself slowly collapsing, his wasted heart still pounding for this boy, this man he loved, who hated him so much. Beyond words, Harry did the only thing left to him he could do to try and convey something to the blonde.

He roughly reached out, grabbed the back of Draco's head and slammed his mouth down against his, his hands curling into the silky blonde strands, his mouth working desperately against Draco's lips, pouring every bit of himself into the kiss, his guilt, his frustration, his longing, his desire, his love. Draco was protesting, wildly attempting to disengage himself, but Harry was damned if he was going to let go now. His arms wrapped firmly around Draco, crushing him against his chest, and Harry moaned despite himself into Draco's mouth, dizzy with the sensations he'd missed so terribly since Animus.

Draco, meanwhile, was now drowning not only in the sheer volume of his own emotions but in the fiery heat of Potter's kiss. He felt lightheaded with the raw passion emanating from the dark-haired wizard, felt like he would suffocate in the intensity of Potter's grip. _Merlin_, Potter could kiss. Mortifyingly, he could feel his body responding to Potter, his blood rapidly heating, his muscles going obediently limp in response to Potter's demanding arms, and despite himself, when Potter moaned, he moaned, just a little bit, in response.

The tiny part of his brain still capable of rational thought wouldn't lie down, though. _He lied to you, _it reminded him. _Remember? Remember the fury, the anger? He was practically grooming you to become his fuckbuddy all over again, when you had a chance at a new life, a different life. One where you don't 'need' each other._

Fury swelled in his gut once more and his eyes snapped open, his hands coming up to rest on Potter's chest before he pushed with all his might. He was slightly shorter than Potter, it was true, but his slighter frame still held strength enough when he needed it, and the gesture successfully dislodged Potter's mouth from his own and freed him from the grip of his arms. He took several steps back for good measure.

Potter's chest was heaving, his eyes darkened with desire, his expression first surprised and then pleading when he was the resolute spark of anger in Draco's eyes. "Don't," he beseeched, "please don't go..."

Draco spun around before his body could betray him and fly back to that delicious embrace. Still clinging to the thought that had reignited his fury, _he lied to you..._Draco practically sprinted into the lounge room, straight to the fireplace, wildly pointing his wand into the hearth as he went.

"Incendio!" he yelled, and flames flared up in the fireplace. He seized the little pot of Floo powder kept on the mantelpiece and flung the glittering powder into the flames, haphazardly tossing it aside in his haste to Floo away from the apartment. He flung a look over his shoulder and saw Potter coming for him, hand outstretched, a panicked expression on his face.

Draco stepped into the bright green fire and called out the address of Pansy and Blaise's home. Potter's face, with his eyes still dark with desire, was the last thing he saw before he began to spin away, away from the apartment he'd been sharing with Potter when they were in love.

_TBC_

**AN: Oh...dear...god. Longest. Chapter. Ever. **

**...well! There doesn't seem to be much I can say after that. The shit's hit the fan now for Harry and Draco. Le gasp! **_**Lovers? **_

**I'm not going to make this thing any longer than it already is, so...please, please review and let me know what you thought? I'd be much obliged. **

**Until next time,**

**bleedingxheart**


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